


Sunset in Reverse

by Demenior



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aftermath of Violence, Casual Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Champion POV, Dark Shiro (Voltron), Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Learning to trust, Platonic Relationships, Post S3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, References to Torture, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Survivor Guilt, Team as Family, life after trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/pseuds/Demenior
Summary: Champion has made a life for himself in the prisons. He is the king of hell, and he defends his throne proudly. He's let go of all ties to his past, anything that might make him wish for a life outside of the Arena. There's no need for a monster to dream of things he cannot have.That is, until he's kidnapped by a team calling themselves the Paladins of Voltron, who claim that he's one of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept for this fic is rooted in a '5 times the Pals saved Champion, and the 1 time he saved them', but has since expanded a little more and so only loosely follows the original concept. While there are a lot of heavy themes explored, lots of violence or trauma referenced to, the majority of this fic is about the healing _after_ being removed from an intensely abusive situation.
> 
> Big thanks to my discord servers who were incredibly supportive (especially the whisper-bang server!) about this idea.
> 
> Much love to Gitwrecked, Oldmythologies and Queenvalkyrie for being my beta's and hype team on this chapter.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Champion is coming fresh from the prisons, and as such he's seen some horrible things and internalized a lot of awful conceptions. There's lots of casual mentions about killing or hurting people, casual thoughts on suicide or references to how he was tortured or beaten. As a survivor who was starved regularly he also has trouble with food in that he's protective and doesn't know how to stop eating. Please read carefully if any of this might bother you!

Champion waits dutifully while his handlers secure the area. Two keep their blasters trained on him at all times. He’s made sure they won’t make the mistake of trusting his calmness again. The halls have to be cleared before he’s brought through, as no one unarmed is allowed near him unless he’s sedated. He stares ahead with empty eyes, not searching out anything in particular but taking in his surroundings all the same.

The Drones move efficiently. They follow instructions to the letter, though Champion finds it amusing that for all their artificial intelligence, they can’t be programmed to show fear. He’s spooked enough Galra guards simply by staring at them too long. It’s unnerving for anyone to be the attention of a killer. And Champion is the best killer they’ve found in a long time.

The prisoners shout insults or encouragements as he’s led down the halls. They pass the third block, where Champion was kept before he was forced into private quarters. He glances in, out of pure curiosity. None of his group remains. He feels something— it’s not remorse, it’s more like speculation, curiosity in the face of realization— at the loss of his first cell mates. He killed several of them.

While the faces looking back are not new, they are not familiar to him yet. Most faces don’t become familiar. But they all know him. From the shock of white in his bangs to the coiled scar tissue across his face, everyone knows who Champion is. Everyone knows what he’s capable of— and they know that he’s always capable of more.

He has the patchwork scars on his body to prove he can always be stitched back together. Nothing short of annihilation will stop him, and that alone scares most opponents into giving up before the fight has even begun.

Other than the cursory glance into his old cell he stares ahead. Nostalgia, holding onto things does not serve him. Why does he always want to live in memories? To pretend like he’s had anything worth looking back on other than victory?

Twenty-five steps to the end of the hall. Pause while handlers open the doors. Champion watches closely as they press their metal hands to the scanner, activating some sort of code. He flexes his right hand. He wonders if it will work.

He wouldn’t get three steps before the collar shut him down. If that didn’t work, the safety measures built into his arm would. Escape is always an idle fantasy, but it’s no longer a desire for him. He’s embraced where he is, he’s learned the rules and learned the system. So long as he keeps winning, Champion will be treated well. If he loses, there’s no point.

It’s nice to have everything laid out so clearly. Win or die. Be useful or be discarded. He has purpose here.

He received new patrons this cycle. They have been providing him with weapon training. Champion has to make sure to show off some new skills, to make them proud of their investment. He thinks about footwork as he counts down the steps.

Twenty-five to the end of the hall. Three to enter the lift. Turn, face the door. Four minutes to the lower floor. Sixty-one steps in total to the Arena. One right turn, a left, and a final right. He can hear the crowd from down here. Yelling in excitement, or rage. It’s a low hum that sings under his skin and vibrates the air around him.

Further ahead, at the other door, new prisoners are being loaded for their first fight.

Champion keeps his eyes ahead when he hears their nervous chatter. They know who he is.

He gets an idea of the fight he’s about to have. A melee. Him against the new fighters. The Galra probably want a bloodbath, or a chance for an underdog.

Like he once was.

Stand and wait for the handlers to open the doors. Enter alone, let the door be closed behind him. And then his handcuffs will release.

Champion doesn’t leave his back open. He turns to face the Drones as he enters, taking the last steps backwards.

There’s someone inside. Champion’s meant to be alone in here. An intruder. Two of them! Sabotage! He has enough time to register two aliens in armor— faces hidden behind a helmet and visor— before the shorter one is rolling something— a bomb!

Champion dives away, but the explosive goes off, shining bright light and billowing smoke. It wasn’t meant to kill— only to stun. He can’t see. His ears are ringing. The air smells bad, he’s breathing in smoke. There’s loud crashes at the door as his handlers fall, circuits shorting out.

“Shiro! Shiro!” the taller assassin says.

Champion’s knees give out. He snarls a warning. One more step and he’ll make sure they regret attacking him.

“We got you,” the shorter says. Their white armor blurs until Champion can only make out the accent colors. Red. Green. The colors mean nothing to him— where’s their insignia? Who are they with?

There’s hands on him, and his muscles are going lax. He can’t lift his head, his mouth hangs open like an empty threat. He’s done for. This is the end of his reign. Pathetic.

“Everything’s gonna be okay. Just hold on,” the taller instructs.

Champion thinks he knows the voice. He heard it once, in another lifetime.

He slumps to the floor as his body goes numb and his thoughts crawl to a halt. He has a last recollection of being caught by his killers, and they lower him down gently like they want to keep him alive.

 

* * *

 

Champion wakes to an argument. He’s lying on his back on a horizontal surface. His eyes are closed, and he’s heavy with fatigue. He was drugged. Right. The intruders and their smoke.

“—make him join the war just because we want him here!”

“He’s the Black Paladin!”

“Technically, the Black Lion picked the first Shiro. It… it might not accept this one.”

“’This one’? This is the real Shiro! Of course the Black Lion will choose him!”

He’s alive. Unharmed— so far as he can tell. Which either means they’re going to hurt him, except Champion can’t feel restraints, or… they want him for something else.

He cracks an eye open and is immediately blinded. After a lifetime in Galra darkness with their purples and deep reds, it’s like looking into the sun. The room is swathed in creams, whites and blue hues. He’s not on a Galra ship. His eye waters, blurring up any attempt to take in details. There’s a small crowd just nearby, gathered in a loose circle to speak. None of them are wearing armor or anything to help identify them. They all appear human, but Champion’s been fooled by his hope before.

The armor on his captors wasn’t Galra by any means. Some sort of outside interference. But why come for him? Champion has no worth outside of the Arena. He is worth an envious sum of credits, yes, but unless they want him to kill he has nothing else to offer. So are these Patrons? New benefactors who want him to fight for them? There’s been talk of other systems making their own Arenas, of feeding their strongest into the Arena where Champion reigns. Perhaps this is a rival group, looking to skew odds in their favor by pulling him from a fight, or to entertain themselves by having him fight in backroom brawls. The guards liked to test their own strength against those of their celebrity fighters. They stopped bringing Champion into those after he mauled three of them.

He closes his eyes, unable to handle the brightness. It doesn’t smell like quintessence. Or that sickeningly clean smell of the surgical room. No Druids then.

They haven’t restrained him. A fool’s error. They even— the collar is gone. He can feel from the angle his right arm is lying that the inhibitor band has also been removed. He’s fully functional.

“What if he doesn’t want to fight? He’s been through a lot. Should we just… take him home?”

“First off we need to get him back to health. We can’t even consider asking him to do anything but rest right now.”

“Well… I guess we still have five Paladins if he doesn’t want to stay…”

“Of course he’s going to stay! He’s the Black Paladin!”

“Dude, calm down. We saved him, he’s going to be fine now.”

“Keith, just look at him. He’s here, he’s safe. _You_ saved him.”

“Hey! I helped!”

“I was just trying to make him feel better!”

Champion pulls his focus together, drawing out of the fogginess in his head. They’ve left him unbound, and took him out of the prisons. Should he show some thanks? From what he heard of their conversation they want him to fight. So really, he’s traded out old masters for new ones.

That leaves a bitter rage in his gut. If they think he’ll be satisfied for that, they are going to be sorely disappointed.

He’s turning over his thoughts like an old engine, struggling to continue moving even when all the parts aren’t cooperating, so he misses the sound of movement and startles as a hand grabs his shoulder.

It’s pure instinct, self-defense, as he snaps and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of the alien’s wrist. His teeth aren’t sharp but his intention is malicious, and he has lots of practice breaking skin. The alien lets out a yowl and yanks back as Champion rolls with his momentum, and they topple to the floor.

“What the—” from somewhere away.

He’s outnumbered here, but this one has left himself open. Champion rolls with the fall, pulling down the smaller alien with his body weight and they hit the floor together. A punch to his jaw dislodges the weak grip he had with his teeth.

“Shiro! Oh my god!”

“Keith!”

He grabs the alien by the neck— act quick, the others are shouting, they’ll stop him soon— and lifts him with two hands to slam the alien’s skull against the ground. _Crack_! It doesn’t break, he needs to try again—

He’s grabbed by the throat and pulled right off his knees before he can make the kill.

“Enough!” the woman yells. Champion snarls in the face of his jailer, and goes to activate his arm. He’ll gut as many as he can.

The dark skin and white hair give him pause, and his stomach ties in knots.

It’s a Druid holding him. She wasn’t wearing the robes, or mask, that’s what fooled him. But he should have known better.

He’s in another of Haggar’s games.

Champion lets his arms drop. Playing dead or remorseful won’t stop the Druids from hurting him, but it will help him save his strength for the coming torture.

It’s so bright he can hardly bare to look at them, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the Druid. Champion squares his shoulders. She’s a Druid, she awakens terror wherever she goes, but he doesn’t have to grovel. Not yet.

The group has amassed around the alien Champion attacked— the one who helped capture him. He’s bleeding heavily from the wrist, a swash of red that stains the cream floor. The largest of them— tall, Champion can make out yellow in the blur of his sight— holds him upright.

“Shiro what the hell, man?” another alien shouts. He strides forwards— Champion picks out green, no, blue, on him— he’s tall and stands behind the Druid.

Shiro. They’ve said this word a lot, and it finally occurs to Champion that they’re using it to address him. It’s a name?

“Why did you attack Keith?” the Druid asks. Her accent is weird. Everyone sounds a little odd through the translator chip, but she doesn’t sound like she has a Galra accent.

It was defensive. It was status. You don’t let others touch you, push you around. You take and you give nothing back. It means food or starvation, a warm place to sleep or dying in the cold. It means staring down someone who could probably kill you, and making them step off. It means everything.

Druids don’t live in the pits. They could never understand.

Champion stays quiet and keeps his eyes on her. The blood in his mouth tastes human— at least, it tastes like his.

“We have to get Keith to medical,” another alien says— tall, pale. Orange. He sounds like the Druid. Another Druid? With his face uncovered too? He’s talking about the alien— Keith— that Champion attacked.

Keith cradles his injured arm to his stomach, and he looks at Champion with wide, wet eyes. Champion doesn’t flinch from the gaze. He’s not sure if Keith is promising him violence in the future, or is in awe of the ferocity of Champion’s attack.

“Go,” the Druid agrees, “Pidge and Lance, with me.”

Keith. Champion knows his voice, he knows that name. From where? How?

The group divides, and now there are only three in the room with Champion. Had there not been a Druid present, he would be confident in his ability to kill at least one of them before they could detain him.

“Do you know who we are?” the one called Lance asks.

“Why would he know who you are?” Pidge berates him.

Are these all Druids? Has he been brought into a Coven?

No— the one he attacked. Had it been a Druid, he would be dead by now. This is a Druid run base, that’s for sure, but the rest might be her crew.

They were talking about Paladins. He doesn’t know that role, what that implies. But it sounds like a hierarchy of some sort. Yes, that makes more sense.

“Shiro? Can you— can you talk?” Lance asks.

Champion blinks his eyes clear. The Druid’s fingers are still at his throat. She’ll hurt him if he lies.

“Yes,” he says.

“So… do you know who I am?” Pidge asks. They step forward, close enough that he can make out their features and—

Keith. Matt. From Earth. Humans! Friends!

Shiro— that name— that’s his name. From before.

It makes him all the more certain he’s in a Druid’s spell. They’re mining his memories, looking for the people he misses most. They want to expose some raw nerve of him that they haven’t touched yet (impossible), to break down the strength he’s built up against them. To reduce him to his weakest like he was when he first came to the Arena.

They always underestimate him. It’s why Haggar loves him. She knows him inside and out now, quite literally. She’s the only one who can hold his leash without feeling his teeth, because she knows the merit of his worth. She has measured the strength of his soul. She loves throwing him to the wolves, and watching them become afraid when they realize Champion isn’t the lamb, but a lion instead.

Champion has deduced he’s being tricked. But he needs more information to find out why. And who these people are.

“Matthew Holt,” he recites. The name sounds foreign— English words, Earth words, he hasn’t spoken them in so long.

Matt pauses, and Champion squints. There’s hesitation in the expression. He’s gotten something wrong. This could mean pain.

“You’re not Matt,” he concludes quickly.

“No,” Pidge says, and takes off their glasses, “I’m Matt’s little sister. We… we met a few times, over skype. I go by Pidge here, but my name was Katie.”

Trying to remember anything before the Arena hurts. It’s all so unimportant compared to the things that really matter. He nods like he knows what she’s talking about.

“Pidge Holt,” he says.

Pidge smiles, “Yeah.”

“If I let you go, are you going to attack us?” the Druid asks.

 _Yes_ is the truth. Champion weighs his options. The Druid will stop him— but she hasn’t killed him yet. They want him alive for something, so it’s likely he could maim Lance or Pidge— Pidge is also small, he thinks he can kill her quickly, before the Druid stops him. They’ll have a harder time stopping him too, if they need to keep him alive. They’ll have to pull their punches.

 _No_ is the smarter option. And it’s not a lie if he believes it right now.

“Don’t give me a reason,” he says. It’s a little cheeky. He’s been beaten for sass before.

The Druid pulls away slowly. She looks mostly human, but it’s like the Druid was trying to pretend to be human, but wasn’t sure of the finer details. So instead it’s just wrong.

“Shiro, we’re your friends,” Lance says, “don’t you know that?”

Champion does not point out the Druid still holding his throat in her claws. Or the blood on the floor still. There are no friends here. He stays quiet.

“Let’s get your face washed,” the Druid says, and Champion supposes it’s an order so he doesn’t disagree, “and then we can tell you everything.”

 

* * *

 

And they do. The three of them talk, and Champion listens.

Shiro escaped Galra captivity and crash-landed on Earth missing his memories of the prisons. He gathered a rag-tag group of human youth and discovered an ancient Alien spacecraft. They were all drafted into the war with the Empire. How Shiro disappeared in battle, how he came back to them.

How it turns out, that neither of those Shiro’s were him after all.

The Empire had been making cyborgs, all in his image. Great warriors to do their bidding, to infiltrate Earth, and later, to infiltrate team Voltron. Champion knew there had to be a reason for Haggar’s continued interest in him. He wonders why she never told him about this project— or maybe he was aware? The Druid examinations all bled together after a while.

Champion has been in the Arena for, what they can estimate, nearly two earth years. If not longer. The numbers mean very little to him. He knows he’s the longest-lived gladiator the Arena’s seen in deca-phoebs. That’s something to be proud of.

Team Voltron, as they call themselves, made it their duty to find what they called ‘the real Shiro’. They’d searched and planned for months, and it led them to this: to Champion.

 

And then they tell him about Voltron.

 

It’s a long story, in total. Lance, Pidge and Allura— does he call her Princess? Lady? Priest?— all look at him like they’re hoping something rings true for him. Champion keeps his expression schooled. The lingering effects of the drugs they gave him make his mind slow, and he works to take in all of the details they give him. Most of it seems outlandish.

Perhaps the Druids want him to believe this, so they can rip it all away later on.

He doesn’t know if they know he’s aware of their influence. The safest course is to always play the fool, let them pay for it when they think he’s lax and not ready to fight.

The Druid— Allura— is in charge. That makes sense, and that normality makes Champion feel a sense of calm. Despite all their illusions and tricks, the hierarchy remains. He knows the chain of command, and he knows his place in it.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in,” Lance says, in the end.

Champion is sitting on the couch he’d woken up on. The three of them stand over him, asserting their authority. He’s bottom of the food chain here.

“One last thing,” Pidge interrupts, “do you… do you know anything? About my family?”

Is this a test? Seeing how much he remembers. He’s lucky those memories overlap with the start of the Arena, or else he wouldn’t know anything.

“Matthew Holt is your older brother. Samuel Holt is your father. We were arrested by the Galra for trespassing,” Champion recites. It’s been so long since he’s thought of them, like a footnote on his life, yet they’re part of the story of how he came to be.

“And?” Pidge prompts, voice tense.

Champion regards her carefully. What else is there to say? They must be testing to see how much he knows. Are they looking for informants? Who has given him information, and what he’s observed over the cycles?

“Do you know where they are?” Pidge asks, “what happened to them?”

Oh. If she wanted to know that, why not ask directly? This crew is strange.

“Samuel was drafted to the work camps and shipped out quickly after the Druids finished their research on us,” Champion informs her, “Matthew Holt was intended for the Arena. I broke his leg. I believe he was held by the Druids after that.”

“What about after?” Pidge presses, “is he okay?”

Why does she keep asking these questions? Once the Druids have you, you are either dead or not dead.

Lance throws an arm over Pidge’s trembling shoulders. Champion tracks the movement, and then draws his eyes back to Allura. Are Lance and Pidge romantically involved? What does this casual physical intimacy mean? What can he learn from the display?

“You don’t know what work camp Commander Holt went to, do you?” Lance asks.

“No,” Champion replies. Why would he? Anything outside of the Arena is irrelevant.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Allura says. Champion steels himself for the repercussions of any mistakes he might have made. He’s going to hurt for attacking Allura’s Keith-Paladin.

“You must be exhausted,” Allura says, “it’s been a long day for everyone. We have a room put together for you, Shiro.”

It’s a very roundabout way of taking him to the examination room. Haggar always liked Champion’s social conduct. She said it was a relief to deal with someone civilized. Just to spite her, Champion had tried to bite off her fingers the next time she touched him, and she’d shattered his jaw.

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, “you can get some rest and we’ll have dinner in a bit.”

“And Shiro,” Allura’s tone changes and Champion sits up straighter. This is an order, “I don’t know what happened earlier, but I need you to promise that you won’t bite anyone.”

“Allura!” Lance says, scandalized.

An oath to a Druid is binding. Haggar tortured Champion into most of his. But they’re easily side-stepped through careful phrasing and word manipulation. He doesn’t understand how this Druid can waste her words so badly. Champion can do more harm without using his teeth.

Champion nods in acceptance. Haggar once cut out his tongue, claiming that if he wasn’t going to use it, he didn’t need it. He promised to serve her, words mangled and without shape in his empty mouth, nearly choking on blood. She gave it back to him as a show of her generosity.

This Druid, Allura, accepts his silent agreement.

Nothing makes sense.

 

* * *

 

“And this is you,” Lance declares, opening the door. Champion takes one last look around the hall, counts the number of doors and tallies the number of steps, and prepares himself for the pain.

He follows Lance in, uniquely aware of how exposed the Paladin is to him. He doesn’t even have a weapon on him, or armor. There’s a hundred and one ways Champion could kill him, and _should_ kill him, for being so foolish.

And this is… this is not an examination room. These are living quarters. Far more luxurious than anything Champion’s ever had before. That’s even— that’s a bed right there. This crew is treating him like a civilian, not a gladiator.

“We, uh, we cleaned it all out, but we have the— the others’ stuff, if you wanted anything,” Lance says.

“We’ll get you new clothes,” Pidge assures him, “but we can pick those out after you sleep.”

A new uniform? He thinks of the Paladin armor with it’s weird accents and lack of any familiar insignia. Perhaps his earlier theory— of new patrons, new benefactors who want him to fight for their pleasure, is more reasonable than he realized.

“Bathroom is just down the hall,” Lance instructs, and makes a loose gesture to his left, “and we’ll probably be in the dining room. Remember where that is?”

Of course he does. But he shouldn’t. Champion can’t believe they didn’t blindfold him as they transported him through the ship. Instead, they actually pointed things out and routes in case he might get lost.

Now, though, he won’t have the excuse of curiously investigating anything should he slip away from his new Handlers. Perhaps they’re more cunning than he thinks.

Maybe Champion just wants to think he’s being held by intelligent masters, and not a bunch of fools. Why point out the fresher if he’s not going to be able to access it? Do they want him to call them any time he wants to relieve himself?

“Do you need anything?” Allura asks.

Nothing that a Druid can provide. He stays quiet.

“Call us for anything,” Pidge says.

“It’s good to have you back, Shiro,” Lance says. Lance reaches out to strike, and Champion freezes. Lance pats Champion’s shoulder like they’re comrades. It takes all of Champion’s willpower not to break his arm. The Druid thinks his only means of fighting are his teeth— which makes sense. Humans lack many natural weapons. But he needs to save her mistake for another time. Lance withdraws his hand, unscathed. They are so callous in their treatment of him. Once Champion understands the situation he’s found himself in, he’ll be sure to establish his position as a wild animal. He is not a pet to be coddled, he is a killer to be respected.

Champion turns to face them— keep his back covered— as they leave. He waits, watching them seal the door. There’s a touchpad on the inside, matching the one Lance had used to open it from the outside. Champion recalls the Drones using their hands to interface with the locking mechanisms to open doors, and how he’d hoped that his right hand could do the same. Now he’s in a new prison, and he’s going to have to learn all over again.

The room is dark without the hall light. It’s easier on his eyes, though the adjustment leaves him blind.

Champion waits a beat, then another. The hall is quiet, the room is quiet. He's so used to the constant chatter and noise of the prisons. There was always someone moving, someone breathing hard, the rattle of someone's snoring or the whimpering of those in pain. Feet moving up and down the halls, gears grinding, people repeating the names of their loved ones like talismans against evil, or psalms before death.

This is... silence. He hasn't been in silence since Haggar's solitary, where she broke him.

Maybe that's why they didn't bring him to an examination room.

Champion's heart picks up. It's beating against his chest, rapidfire to escape, like he wants to. If this is... if this is....

But it's not. This is not Haggar's Darkness. His eyes adjust. He can see in here. He knows who he is.

He makes to sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress gives under his weight and his stomach lurches like he's falling. It's so soft! He's sinking!

He sits in stunned silence. He's lain on other prisoners, all crowded together in a filthy, fly-ridden mess to stay warm. This is... like that, but not at all.

He still can't hear anyone in the halls. He's alone. That doesn't mean they aren't watching, but the concept of being viewed by unknown observers no longer upsets Champion. The Galra were always watching.

He reaches out with his left hand and hesitantly touches the blankets on the bed. This has to be a mistake. There's no reason they would give someone like Champion something like this.

The fabric is soft, and his hand glides over it. His callouses and raised scar tissue catch on the fibers, but it's _soft_. Champion swallows hard, and glances back to the door. It's a trick. This is going to be a trick.

They haven't come for him yet, so he can indulge in this moment.

He leans down, brings his feet up off the floor, until he's on his side and can rub his face against the material. He blinks away tears. It's soft. The mattress cushions him like a cloud, wrapping around every curve of his body.

They're going to take this from him. He knows they will.

Champion sits up quickly and strips. His boots, his shirt, everything. He wants to feel it. He's going to take this luxury for as long as they'll give it to him.

He hauls the blanket up, and wraps it tightly around himself so he can feel it all over his skin from the raised whipping scars crisscrossing his back, the deep pockmarks on his thighs, to the vivisection scars on his front. It's so soft— and it's warm! He's warm! He groans in delight, and pulls it up so it covers his nose. His breath is hot and wet on the fabric, and it's a _delight_. He's panting in excitement.

He draws himself into the corner of the bed, wrapped tight in his blanket with only his eyes showing so he can watch the door.

No one has come for him yet. They said they were going to leave him here until meal time, whenever that is.

Champion knows, rightfully, that food supersedes any and all other needs. This blanket is simply an indulgence. But in the moment, he thinks he would skip the meal if it meant he could have this softness just a little longer.

 

* * *

 

Champion sits until he's so hot that he has to unwrap the blanket. He feels a bit embarrassed about his reaction, but he doesn't let the blanket fall from his shoulders. He's warm. He's so pleasantly warm inside and out.

Champion dresses again, and decides to leave his shirt off so he can still feel the blanket wrapped around him. He rubs it against his cheek as he explores.

He can't believe they left him bedding. The roof is too short for him to hang himself and on a cursory glance he can’t see anything to anchor a noose to, but the point still stands. Exploring further, there's a space under the bed. He thinks he could fit in there. It will be  difficult for them to get him out if they're trying to take him somewhere. That will be good to know, for future reference. It's small enough that he would be rendered immobile should they bring in anything to stab him with. He will have to be careful when he tries to disobey them.

There's storage. A bunch of drawers along the back wall, all empty. A large square shape that could be a coffin, but is probably meant to keep clothing in. It's deep enough to sit in.

Champion runs his fingers along the wall, and can feel the hum of engines. They must be on a ship. How large? He's not sure. But from the tour of the living quarters he's already had, it must be large. A flagship? A destroyer? No— this is too luxury for the military. This is a custom ship, built by the rich for the rich.

And now they've bought him. Or at least, they paid the right people to steal him.

Champion wonders what their Arena is like. Or, he thinks of attack dogs, docile and tame until the muzzle comes off. Is he simply for show? Maybe that's why they're pampering him. He's their pet, a prize to show off and lord their power over.

Another theory. He has too many theories. He thinks so much.

As they promised, Champion can't find any bucket to relieve himself in. He debates testing how willing they will be to come to his aid, but decides he wants to be alone longer.

He lifts the mattress, finds nothing of interest. He explores each drawer, finds the angles of the corners. They're not sharp enough to cut his wrists on, but with the right angle and force he supposes he could break someone's arm on the length of them. Or crack a skull. Points work much better than a flat surface for that.

Champion rubs the blanket against his face, and closes his eyes a moment as he drinks in the sensation. He keeps telling himself to put it down, to let go of it willingly so they can't take it from him, but he refuses to give it up.

It's too quiet. With only the sound of his breathing, the slide of the drawers or his stomping as he moves around the room, Champion is going to lose his mind. How can anyone function in this silence? He can hear everything!

There's a porthole. A window. He comes across it by accident. The touchpad under it lights up to his curious fingers, and the viewscreen opens.

It's the outside.

Champion sucks in a ragged breath. There it is. Space. Stained with stars and galaxies and a million life forms in between. He hasn't seen— 

He's crying, and his knees give out. He sags against the wall and buries his face in the blanket. He's sobbing, gasping as his heart hammers in shock. He feels winded, a blow to the gut, and dizzy all at once. This can’t be real. This _can_ _’t_ be real.

They will take this away from him, like they always do.

He grips the small ledge of the window and drags himself up through sheer strength. What if he just imagined it? Or what if he looks now, and it's different. Because it's all an illusion, and the Druids are laughing at him.

What if it's real?

Champion forces himself to look, and whimpers.

There's color: reds, and blues, and purples, and greens. Yellows and gold and orange streaking through space dust. He can see the bright lights that are planets in the far, far, far distance.

A starry sky. He used to dream about them, trapped down in the prisons. They would all dream of a world without cages, and slowly go mad as those dreams grew further and further out of reach.

Champion presses his face to the glass, his left palm too. It's chilled, especially compared to the heat of his skin. He doesn't move, drinking in every last bit of the cosmos until he has it committed to memory.

He has a blanket, and he has the stars. This is the best day of his life.

And he knows he's going to suffer for it.

 

* * *

 

They come for him, eventually. Champion can hear their voices in the hall. He doesn't know if they're watching the room, if they are smart enough to keep tabs on him or if they're stupid enough to think he's tame just because he's in a cage.

He closes the porthole anyways, pushes away the panic as the last of the starlight fades away and leaves him in the dark again.

He stashes the blanket under the bed. If they don't see it, maybe they'll forget it's there. If they remember, then it means they're keeping tabs of his belongings. It will be good for him to find out just who his new Masters are.

Champion stands further to the back, as is protocol, and faces the wall with his hands behind his back.

There's knocking on the door. Champion doesn't move. When he was moved to a solitary cell in the prisons the guards often knocked to indicate they were entering. That was when he was behaving. When he had displeased them, they did not knock and would swarm in to catch him off guard. Perhaps it is the same here.

"Shiro?" it's Pidge's voice, "hey, are you hungry?"

Champion doesn't know how to respond. Yes, of course he is. He will never turn down food. Who knows when it will come again.

There's more knocking, and mumbled voices. They're talking to each other. Champion strains to hear, but he doesn't move from his protocol position. What has he done wrong? Why aren't they coming in? Did it finally occur to them that he is an unrestrained gladiator? Have they finally found their senses, along with their fear?

The door opens. The light from the hall spills in, curling around Champion's feet and casting a long shadow to the back.

"The lights are off, is he— oh! There you are!" another voice, the male Druid, says. They gave him a name in the story they told Champion. He struggles to remember it. Right, Coran.

"Do you want to come eat dinner?" Pidge asks, "or would you like us to bring it to you?"

Bringing him food is standard. Champion's not sure what going for dinner entails. So far he hasn't gotten nasty surprises from these people. But they already told him he would be joining them earlier, so this is a trick. If he wants to stay, they will force him to come.

He turns slowly to face them. They hadn't restrained him to walk him to his cell, perhaps they don't intend to do it now either? Champion should kill them for that, for treating him like a tame pet.

"You okay?" Pidge asks, softer.

Champion regards his options carefully, and then decides on compliance, "I'll come."

It's a nice trick, to make him feel like he has a choice.

 

* * *

 

Champion tries to draw on his memory map of the ship as they make their way to dinner.

"We're unreasonably happy to have you back," Coran confides, "so take your time, get healthy, and then we'll be right as rain again!"

"Keith isn't mad," Pidge tells him, "we didn't really consider that you've been in a rough place for a while, and he scared you. He's fine though, so don't worry about that whole thing."

Why would Champion worry? He'd meant to hurt Keith badly. And if Keith is apparently 'fine' now, it means they have medical tech on board. So this _is_ a Druid workship. They have an examination room they can drag Champion into any time he gets too unruly. It also means they can use torture and pain to make Champion obey, and patch him right up.

It nulls the theory of being a prized pet. They're going to make him fight, so they can stitch him up and make him do it all over again. That helps settle some of the unease in his gut. He knows their plan, good.

The rooms are all so bright. Champion has to keep blinking to see where he's going.

He's accurate in his assessments. They follow the same route he was shown earlier. Good. It's only been a few hours and he's learning quickly.

Lance, Allura, Keith and the one they called Hunk are all in the dining room. There's a long table to sit at, lined with high-backed chairs. The table is swamped with food. Champion’s eyes nearly burst out of his skull. He’s fantasized a display like this but he… he never thought it was _possible_.

The four of them are watching Champion closely. He stays straight-backed after entering the room, and gives no indication that everything in him wants to leap onto the table and eat as much as he can before someone tries to take it from him.

"I didn't know what you'd want, so I kind of made a bit of everything," Hunk says excitedly. He's wearing an apron, and comes around the table to pull out a chair at the head of the table.

Lance leans over to pat the armrest, "This is yours."

Champion waits for another signal to indicate he can move, or further instruction, but none appear to be forthcoming. They are all watching him with bright eyes and big smiles, but clearly expecting something.

He takes initiative and moves forwards. Slow steps so he can stop if he's misread the situation. He doesn't like how sneaky these Masters are. They don't give direct orders and make him work to figure out what they want.

He sits carefully, and Hunk helps slide the chair into place. He's the guest of honor here. Lance is to his right, Keith to his left. There's an empty plate in front of him, and a tantalizing table of food within reach.

And utensils. Champion's eyes go wide. That— that's a spoon. And a fork. And that! That's a knife! Right there. In easy reach. Tucked just under the lip of his plate. They're meant for him.

He could almost laugh. What idiots! They've given him weapons!

Champion’s seen this before, well, nearly. He’s been punished with starvation, or just given the temptation of food when Haggar wants to make a deal with him. The guards have made him beg for their scraps and then denied him so they can laugh at his misery. Having him sit amongst the crew is cruel, but Champion is wise to their games. He will move quickly, and eat all that he can before they realize they should have restrained him.

"You get first pick," Lance announces, and gestures to the food.

This is? He's allowed to eat it?

Champion hesitates. He glances at Allura. She's smiling, and nods for him to continue.

Another trap. Perhaps this food is poisoned. Or drugged.

He's fought matches in the Arena while drugged. It's less than ideal.

They've kept him alive so far, and unharmed too. Perhaps they're trying to be kind to him, to make him fond of them, before they show him their whips. It’s an interesting tactic.

“Oh,” Hunk realizes, “do you— have you tried any of these before? Here, let me help.”

He pushes his chair back and hops to his feet, grabbing a bowl of something. He scoops some out onto Champion’s plate. Champion stays still. Hunk has no fear of him, leans right into his space, even though he saw Champion sink his teeth into Keith for doing the same thing.

Champion’s head hits the back of his chair and he grips his arm rests tightly and breathes deep. Hunk doesn’t mean him harm. He doesn’t want to lose his privileges yet.

He’s so close, pushing in on Champion’s space because he can. Champion wants to warn him off, to back away. This isn’t the prisons, these are his Masters. If he hurts them he’ll be hurt twice-over. They don’t understand the status ranking of the gladiators.

Besides, he promised the Druid he wouldn’t bite anyone. It doesn’t make it any less tempting.

Hunk disperses a few samples of different meals onto Champion’s plate, humming as he moves. Champion clenches his teeth together to keep from biting him, but can’t resist the snarl in his lips at having someone intrude on him so forcefully. Hunk’s throat is open, completely unprotected. He’s just asking to be attacked. What fools these new Masters are. What brazen, reckless fools.

He finally moves away.

“There,” Hunk says proudly, “give these a shot. And if you don’t like this I promise I’ll make you something else.”

There’s food on his plate. And it… it smells different. It’s not the slop of the prisons. Champion doesn’t know when he last ate anything that wasn’t prison meal. There was the time a patron had sent him meat. His guards had eaten most of it, and thrown Champion the gristle. Yes, that was the last time he ate well.

He dives right in with both hands and stuffs his mouth before they can take it away.

“Holy shit!” Lance says loudly.

“I think he likes it?” Hunk says.

“Does anyone want to tell him there’s a fork?” Allura asks.

Champion catches movement in the corner of his eye. He snatches the fork, reminded of it, and stabs at the outreached hand. He misses Lance by inches, and bares his teeth in warning. He missed on purpose. The room is silent.

“Shiro!” Allura shouts, and Champion flinches. He’s worked up over the food. This is a feast he would kill a hundred gladiators for.

“Dude! We talked about this,” Lance says, “I was just grabbing the purple potato things.”

“I guess… you had to be pretty possessive in prison?” Pidge asks.

Champion pulls the fork tongs out of the table top and retreats his arm, not letting go of his weapon. Lance moves slower, but he takes the bowl he said he was going for, and starts serving himself and then passes it along. The tension passes,

Champion turns to glance at Pidge. She’s still looking at him, as if there’s more to say.

“Shiro, you want some of this?” Keith asks. He’s holding a tray out for Champion to take. Rolls of some sort. Bright colors. He has no idea what it is. He takes one and fits it in his mouth with a little pushing. It’s warm. Warm food! And delicious. He adds two more to his plate.

“I don’t know if I’m hungry anymore,” Coran notes.

“Shiro, hey, you gotta pass it on,” Lance urges.

Champion should keep this all for himself, if they were dumb enough to hand him all of the food in the first place. But there’s more to be had, and what Lance said sounds like one of the vague orders they keep giving him. He picks off another roll and eats half in one go as he passes the tray to Lance.

They keep passing him more food. Champion is loath to give it up, but no one stops him from taking more. Allura eventually orders him to use the serving spoons, and not his hands. No one touches his plate, or tells him to stop. Champion’s dreamed of a meal like this. Of unending food, of flavors he doesn’t have words for. So much food that he doesn’t have to bother diving for the scraps to have enough to live.

“For future reference, you guys don’t have to make those noises to prove you like my cooking,” Hunk says. He laughs, but it sounds strained.

 

* * *

 

Allura stands to clear her plate, and Champion drops to cover his protectively. He’s so full he feels nauseous, but he can’t stop.

“Shiro, do you think you… you should maybe slow down?” Pidge asks. Champion growls at her. He’ll stop when the food is gone. Until then he can’t let it go to waste.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Hunk says, “trust me, I’m flattered, but I don’t want to see it come back up.”

“They didn’t feed you much, did they?” Keith says. He sounds… sad. It’s just a fact. Starving the gladiators keeps them from getting comfortable, makes them fight harder to be fed again. Keeps them weak to make riots easier to put down, keeps them from being too much for the guards to handle. Starving people makes them mean, makes for better shows. It’s cheaper too.

Keith keeps his hands near his plate and doesn’t touch Champion’s. Champion notes that his wrist is not bandaged, and his hand is fully operational. It confirms Champion’s suspicions that they have a fully functional medbay. No matter the damage he could sustain in a fight, they will be able to patch him up and have him ready for the next round.

Champion maintains his guard over his food. They’re all looking at him now, and he’s not dumb enough to recognize that they want him to stop eating. They’ve all finished, and there’s still food to be had. What a waste. What horrible creatures: that they would have all this food and let it go to waste. Such is the carelessness of the elite.

Allura goes to take some of the bowls from the table. But the food— there’s still food in them— why is she going to waste it when he’s here? Champion whines, he’ll eat it—

“Allura stop!” Keith shouts, he’s turning to face her but keeping his eyes on Champion, “he’s freaking out.”

“Why?” she asks.

“I don’t— I don’t know?” Keith stammers.

“You can’t still be hungry,” Lance scoffs, “Shiro, your plate is totally full.”

“You really should eat all of that before you take any more,” Hunk cuts in.

“When I did that my dad would say that my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” Pidge informs them.

It’s a lot of noise, all at once, and Champion isn’t sure where to look except he knows that it’s come to an end. There’s no more food, they’re taking it all away. They’ll take it from him.

Champion bares his teeth and pulls his plate closer. He has a fork and a knife, he’ll defend his food until they force it from his hands. And they’ll suffer for it.

“Coran what’s he doing?” Allura asks.

“Shiro, dude, calm down. It’s just dinner!”

“Everyone calm down!” Coran shouts.

Coran stands up abruptly, all eyes follow the movement. He comes around the table to kneel beside Champion. At this angle it would be easy to take his eyes out— even easier since Champion has his choice of fork, knife or spoon within easy reach. Except Champion doesn’t think he can move, he’s so full.

“Shiro,” Coran says softly, “there’s going to be another meal tomorrow. And if you get hungry before that, you can come eat.”

It sounds like an oath.

“He thinks we’re not gonna feed him?” Pidge asks, astounded.

“That’s crazy,” Lance laughs. It sounds astonished rather than scornful.

Coran doesn’t look at them. Champion doesn’t look away. He can’t let the Druid see how weak he is right now.

“I can tell you’re malnourished,” Coran says, “that means they starved you, doesn’t it? We must have surprised you with all this food. But we’ll do it again, and every day that you are here with us. You will never starve again.”

Oaths to Druids are binding.

“Promise?” Champion asks. The binding goes two ways. They must uphold their end of the bargain.

“I promise,” Coran says, “we’re going to package this up as leftovers. They’ll be in the cooler, and you can come eat them whenever you want.”

Whenever he wants. Just like how the fresher is supposedly within reach. Except that he has to rely on their escort to get these things they keep promising him.

But it’s an oath promising food. The Druid promised him more feasts like this.

Allura walks away with the dishes and Champion lifts his head to watch. He has the Druid’s oath, but his heart leaps into his chest as Allura takes the food out of sight. Coran stands and holds out a hand to help Champion stand.

“Do you want to help clean up?” Coran offers. Champion draws away from his outstretched hand.

“That’s okay,” Coran says without pause, “we’ll be done in a few minutes.”

The rest of the Paladins are watching the exchange with wide eyes. Champion feels ashamed that he let the Druid see his weakness so easily. He bows his head, and keeps his plate close.

“Come along Paladins, there’s cleaning to be done,” Coran orders.

The Paladins jump to their feet and start removing plates from the table. They keep looking at him like they want to say something. Champion keeps watch over his own plate, but they only take all the extra dishes, and retreat out the doors to where the kitchen must be. Champion hasn’t been shown that area yet.

Coran said he won’t starve. He gave his word. Champion can rely on Druids to keep their word— but he can’t bring himself to let go. Coran also said it would take them a few minutes. Champion thinks quickly, counting back the steps and the turns to his cell. He could make it. If he runs, if he can get inside, he can hide his food. All the storage in there that he’s found, he can make a few caches. Keep it safe, just for him.

He struggles to his feet. He’s never been so bloated before. It makes it hard to stand upright. He doesn’t need posture, he just has to run. Champion gets the plate in his hands, piled high with food he can’t give up, and runs for his cell.

He makes it to the door before he doubles over and vomits.

 

* * *

 

“I guess it was only a matter of time. Like, I know I’m a great chef, but food needs to be savored, not inhaled,” Hunk says with a laugh. It’s nervous, like he’s trying to fill the silence.

Keith and Pidge had been the first to return to the dining room, to find Champion nearly helpless and trying to clean up the mess he’d made. He’d dropped his plate, spilling food everywhere, and thrown up nearly as much as he’d eaten. He was sure they would punish him for this at least.

Instead they called for the Druids, and had the entire crew gawk at him. He was ordered to his feet and escorted out of the room. Now, Hunk, Keith and Coran have accompanied him to the fresher. He’s been put in a pod, told to hand over his soiled clothes to the others, and waits inside, naked, for them to hose him down.

A final humiliation for the day, so it seems.

“Does he know how to work that?” Keith hisses, though not quiet enough that Champion doesn’t hear him.

There’s a knock on the pod, “Shiro?” Coran says, “are you okay in there? Need some help?”

This is… operated from the inside?

It’s already vastly different from the prison baths. A cold hose was the most common after a fight, to keep wounds from festering too badly. Before a gala they would be stripped, shackled and collared, and then tied in rows to be blasted with water and scrubbed down until they bled. It wouldn’t do for high society to catch any disease or have to smell the foul conditions the gladiators lived in.

Champion had assumed that’s what this was. Instead, he gets to bathe himself?

He’s not a fool, though the buttons are unfamiliar. He works it out soon enough. Water starts to run from above him, and he lifts his head to feel it run down his face. It’s warm. Everything here is so warm, he thinks it could melt the ice from his bones. Champion opens his mouth and drinks in some of the water. He wonders how long he could stay in here.

Soap is dispensed, and he wipes down his body quickly. As much of a delight as this is, he knows that he won’t have enough time. Efficiency is key. His stomach threatens to revolt on him as he bends and twists, and it makes it difficult. Champion refuses to waste any more food and fights the nausea down every time. He’s already lost the platter he meant to store away. The shame of it burns in his throat and makes his eyes sting.

The water is brown between his toes, taking all the sweat and grime of the prisons with it. He marvels at the pinkness of his skin. It’s been so long since he saw it like this.

Another knock on the pod.

“How are you doing in there?” Coran asks.

No, never. Champion wants to stay in this pod forever.

He can read into the underlying order. If Champion does not come out, things will get unpleasant for him.

Champion turns off the water, and takes a moment to prepare himself. He shakes off as best he can before he exits the pod.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realize you were just, you know, coming out,” Hunk stammers, jumping up.

“We brought a towel and clothes,” Keith says, cheeks pink, and gestures to the cloth folded on the small table outside the pod.

“We’ll be right outside,” Coran says. All three of them are refusing to look at him, averting their eyes in whatever way they can. Champion is well aware that he’s ugly, with all of his scar tissue and Haggar’s attention carved into his skin. He’s not sure why they’re making a game of mocking him. They file out without looking back— well, he can see all of them glancing at him when the others aren’t looking— and they leave him alone.

He towels off. The texture is pleasant against his skin— though he decides he likes his soft blanket much more. It’s dangerous to have favorites, but his traitorous mind can’t help but compare.

The clothes are not his clothes. This must be his new uniform. He can’t find any insignia on them. Underwear! That’s new. He’s not sure he likes the feeling of wearing them again after so long, but he thinks he can get used to it. Black pants, loose fitting, and a white shirt with no sleeves. This isn’t armor of any sort.

His stomach is still very bloated, and getting dressed hurts. Champion takes the opportunity to relieve himself before he joins his handlers outside.

They all smile when they see him. He hopes that means he’s done something right. Galra only smile when they’re going to hurt you. But these aliens seem to be different.

“You look much better now,” Coran declares.

“Though, maybe we should think about a haircut,” Hunk offers.

Champion waits dutifully as they make their comments.

Keith steps a bit closer, but keeps a respectable distance between them, “Did you want to lay down?”

To be returned to his cell? Yes. It’s safest there.

 

* * *

 

Champion observes again as Keith activates the touchpad to open the door to his cell. He can’t tell what’s special about it— unless it’s encoded to their DNA somehow. Maybe they all carry sensors on them, that cause the panels to activate when they are nearby. Champion might be able to steal one, and then set himself free from his cell at his own leisure.

Champion enters on his own, turning to walk backwards the last few steps. To his surprise, Keith follows him in.

“I’ll be out in just a second,” Keith says to Coran and Hunk. He closes the door. It’s dark inside.

Champion stays put. Punishment, finally. Retribution for the wound he inflicted on Keith, for all the mistakes he’s made today.

Fool on Keith for not chaining him first. Champion can accept his punishment, but he’s going to make Keith fight for every blow.

“Why is it— oh, you haven’t turned them on yet,” Keith says. Champion hears movement by the door, and then suddenly the room is as bright as the outside hall. He flinches, blinking away the tears in his narrowed eyes.

“The lights are right here,” Keith says, “though, now that they’re activated, they should turn on every time you come in. You can control how bright they are too, did you know that?”

Champion doesn’t move. He’ll make Keith come to him before he strikes. He thinks of the drawers in the back. With enough luck, he can break a bone this time. Then they’ll have to put him in chains.

Keith deflates at the lack of a response, “Okay, that’s fair. I know I’m like the last person you wanna talk to, but, um, I just… I needed to say: I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry. It doesn’t even begin to excuse what— I should’ve known they weren’t you. I _should_ _’ve_. But I guess I _am_ a shitty friend, and you don’t deserve someone like me. I get why you hate me. It took us so long to find you, god, I’m just— I’m _sorry_.”

Keith is… he’s crying? He ducks his head to wipe his eyes on the back of his wrist. Champion remains where he is. He’s seen fighters attempt to use emotions as manipulation.

Keith moves forwards suddenly and Champion squares his shoulders.

Keith holds his hands up, palms out, “I’m not— I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Just… please, just trust me.”

He holds out his hand further, palm up. Champion glances at it. There’s nothing there that he’s offering.

Keith takes another small step forwards and leans down, slowly, to softly wrap his fingers around Champion’s hand. If his stomach didn’t hurt so much, Champion could drive his knee into Keith’s nose. He’s pretty sure that could kill him, if not incapacitate him badly. He could strike down on the unprotected expanse of Keith’s back. They all leave themselves so open to him.

He lets Keith pull his hand up, and jumps only slightly when Keith drops to his knees, still holding his hand.

Keith presses his forehead to the back of Champion’s hand, and his shoulders shake as he struggles to stop crying.

“I don’t know what you went through. I don’t know why you’re so different. And I’m so, so, so sorry. Shiro I— god, I missed you so much. But I need you to know: we’re here for you. We all are. And for what it’s worth, I’m here. I’ll always be here. You deserve someone better than me, but I promise I’ll always save you. I’ll never let you down again.”

Longing. Sorrow. Regret. Those are things Champion is familiar with. He’s heard enough absolutions in the prisons.

And this? It’s another oath.

Champion’s not sure how to respond. Keith isn’t a Druid. His oaths aren’t binding. Promises between gladiators were fleeting, broken at a moment’s notice. Small, insignificant things. ‘I’ll keep this space for you’. ‘I’ll remember your name’. Never anything so grand as ‘I won’t hurt you’, or ‘I’m sorry’. There was no possibility for those words, except in fantasy.

After the meal, the stars and the blanket, Champion has begun to suspect he is living out a fantasy life. It would be nice, to be able to forgive.

Champion steps forwards and sets his other hand on Keith’s head. It would be so easy to snap Keith’s neck, or to activate his arm and remove his head entirely. Champion is nearly tempted to do it because to not do it would be foolish. He resists the urge.

“I’m alive,” he says. Keith’s breath hitches, and he looks up. His eyes are glossy, and fresh tears fall down his cheeks as he smiles.

“Yeah,” Keith croaks, “too stubborn to give up. You always were.”

If this is an illusion, they’ve done a very good job. From the slivers Champion can remember, he was especially fond of Keith. This should be enough to move him to tears as well.

Keith sniffs loudly and scrubs at his face with the back of his hand, “I’m sorry— you’re probably tired, and you don’t need me acting like a baby. But you’re safe here, I need you to know that.”

“Okay,” Champion agrees. Safe from what?

“We’re gonna get back to normal,” Keith smiles up at him, “you’re gonna be okay.”

 

* * *

 

Keith leaves him after wiping his face off, to hide his emotional outburst. Champion doesn't move after he's left, standing in the bright lights that Keith had activated for him.

Memories, faces from his past. A convoluted story claiming he should be with them right now.

Champion still doesn't know what they want from him here. He doesn't know if he really is here, or if this is all just an illusion.

It feels too elaborate to be an illusion. Haggar likes to be direct, give him everything he wants, and then snatch it away to leave him reeling. Champion looks at the viewport, and the bed, and thinks of the food. He feels sick again. She's going to come for him, and she's going to take this all away. He can't get accustomed to this.

But then again, he'd eaten himself sick. That shouldn't have happened. It makes him feel, warily, like this might be real. Like this could be something tangible.

He wants to work with that.

That's not a valid reason to believe it, but he's going to go with it anyways.

His stomach still hurts, and is tight with fear. He stumbles to the viewport to open it and bask in the starlight. It’s still there, and it makes his lungs tremble in awe.

Champion sits down on the bed, and sucks in a ragged breath of fear as his stomach lurches. The bed is so soft he's sinking through it. The bed is too open, and exposed to the door. They could shoot him from the doorway, were they so inclined. Champion has always been smart about where he sleeps, picking prime locations.  This is not a good spot for him.

Champion kneels down to retrieve the blanket he hid under the bed. It's still there, and feels soft in his hands again. He takes a moment to kneel and press his face to it. It doesn't smell like piss, or sweat, or any of the other filthy scents the prison is permeated with. It's fresh, clean and vaguely soapy. It's heavenly and makes his head spin.

Everything is like a dream come true. He wants to hold on to this and never let go.

He crawls into the space under his bed, biting his lip as his stomach threatens to rebel on him again.

He can't wrap himself up in the tight quarters, and so simply drapes the blanket over his shoulders, and pulls it up over his nose so his eyes are the only part of his face uncovered. Most of it he can pool under his head, to make it feel like he's floating. His shoulders brush the floor and roof of his little den, and he has to twist his hips to bring his knees to his chest to ease the pain in his gut.

The bright lights don't bother Champion. He closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. He's survived another day.

These new owners— he doesn't know enough about them. He doesn't know what they want from him, so he can't judge their intentions. He can't read behind their words, and everything they ask of him seems to contradict what he thinks they're after. He has to pay attention, and start pushing their limits. They're nice to him now, so he needs to find the boundaries. He needs to find the cage they've built for him, so he can learn how to shake it.

Champion is a creature that needs to be restrained, for everyone's safety, but if his owner isn't careful he's more than willing to bite the hand that feeds him.

Light flickers on Champion's eyelids and he blinks them open. The room lights have dimmed without movement to trigger them, and now there's a soft glow overtaking his room. It's starlight.

He reaches out a hand so the starlight touches his fingertips. It feels gentle, like the blanket is soft. It's a touch Champion doesn't know how to give or receive.

He settles in like that, blanket wrapped snugly around his shoulders, and starlight in his cupped palm. If there was an afterlife, some sort of haven, for monsters like him, then this would be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it wasn't obvious- the team is getting a huge reality check with what they expected Shiro to be like versus what he actually is. That's why they're trying to joke and lighten the mood a lot, but they're freaking out.
> 
> this poor monster under the bed. if he wouldn't hurt them for it, i'd suggest someone give him a hug!!!!
> 
> updates are gonna be a little slow as we head into nanowrimo, but I'll do my best!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'RE BACK! (kind of)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for the overwhelming response to last chapter. I'm delighted that y'all are enjoying this story as much as I am enjoying writing it!!
> 
> Huge kudos to QueenValkyrie, OldMythologies and Gitwrecked for being my amazing betas.
> 
> Shoutout to the Whisper-Bang Discord group who keep me motivated :)

Hunk follows Keith and Coran to the lounge where Pidge, Lance and Allura are waiting. The three of them are sitting around the ring of couches, where they’d had Shiro when he’d woken up and attacked Keith.

Hunk glances at the carpet. It’s been cleaned since, but he feels like he can still see the bloodstain.

He drops in beside Lance, close enough that Lance has to shift a little to keep Hunk from sitting on top of him. It’s always nice to feel their thighs pressed together, especially after a long day like today.

Coran takes a seat across the circle with Allura, while Keith remains standing with his arms crossed.

“Let me be the first to say it,” Lance says, leaning forwards, “what, pray tell, the _quiznak_ is going on?”

“Lance!” Pidge hisses.

“Don’t ‘Lance’ me! I’m serious! What the hell is going on with Shiro?” Lance demands.

“He’s _fine_ ,” Keith snaps.

“He tried to kill you!” Lance replies, loudly, “and nearly ripped my arm off!”

“Hey, keep it down,” Hunk says, and glances over his shoulder, “we don’t want him to hear us.”

“Maybe we do,” Lance shrugs, “cause like, I want to know what his deal is!”

“Lance, we just broke him out of prison!” Pidge says.

“Yeah, we’re the good guys and he’s trying to kill us!” Lance says, “why am _I_ the bad guy here for seeing the obvious? Hunk, back me up, man.”

Hunk bites his lips. They brought Shiro home, they knew he was going to have some demons. That he wasn’t going to be exactly the same as the other… as the androids. But none of them seemed to have anticipated just _how_ different he is.

Hunk had completely trusted the androids, right up until they, well— the one got destroyed by the Black Lion in the fight with Zarkon, and the _other_ turned on them. A part of him still actually misses them. Even though he knows they’re not Shiro. They had been friends.

And now they have the real Shiro. Hunk realizes this is technically the first time he’s met Shiro since Earth, and his gut is screaming _DANGER_ ! _DANGER_! He knows this Shiro is a friend— or at least, he should be, but every instinct says otherwise. Shiro had truly intended to kill Keith today, and he tried to stab Lance over dinner. He was shady about the food, as much as he also seemed to be enjoying it, and he looked at them like he was thinking about all the ways to kill them.

He just… the real Shiro doesn’t seem like a nice guy.

Except Hunk knows he’s _supposed_ to be.

“I think Shiro’s a lot worse than we thought,” Hunk agrees, “so, I don’t know, maybe he just needs more time?”

“It’s a good idea,” Coran says.

“You seemed to understand something about him,” Allura notes, turning to Coran.

Coran shrugs, “Hardly. I simply made a guess. During the war, I saw my fair share of people rescued from prisons or other nightmarish places. They’d be right as rain, and then something would set them off.”

“Like trauma victims, or soldiers,” Pidge adds.

Coran nods, “I think it would be best for all of us, Shiro included, if we stop deciding what he’s supposed to be like. We truly don’t know anything that he’s been through.”

Hunk’s stomach churns as his imagination tries to take off. He veers it away from the gruesome details it wants to picture for him.

“Also, a set meal plan wouldn’t hurt,” Coran adds.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can eat in the dining room until it doesn’t smell like barf,” Lance says.

“But he’s gonna get back to normal, right?” Keith asks.

“Well,” Coran holds up his hands helplessly, “I don’t think so. I truly don’t know much more about this than any of you, I’m just guessing. But for him to be so drastically changed from what we know of him, he must have been through some terrible times. Enough that he’s not going to ever be ‘normal’ like how you lot used to know him.”

Hunk’s imagination rears its ugly head again. He saw all those scars, when Shiro stepped out of the shower. He tried to give Shiro some modesty, to look away and not stare, so it’s hard to bring up the images in his head again. He’s trying to keep it out of his mind. There were so many, each telling a horrible story. There’s the bite marks on his hands that look like human teeth, the scars on his face that the androids didn’t have. The cut in his lip, the scar tissue where one nostril used to be. Shiro’s missing the tip of a finger, and several teeth. One of his ears looks like someone took a bite out of it.

The knobs of his spine and his ribs were showing. The raised scar tissue making his body look like a topography map. The y-shaped scar on his front like you’d see on a cadaver. And more. There was so much more.

Shiro looks like he got in a fight with a blender, and he _lost_.

“But he survived,” Keith says firmly, “and he’s one of us. He’ll be okay.”

“I hope,” Coran nods in agreement, “but, I think we need to have some ground rules.”

“Like what?” Allura asks, “we didn’t just rescue him from one prison to put him in another.”

“Well, I think we should eat without utensils for a while,” Coran says.

“We’re trying to show him how to be civilized again, not the opposite!” Allura remarks, “I want Shiro to feel accepted, not patronized.”

“He did try to stab Lance,” Pidge says.

“And,” Coran sighs, “I found when he, um, when he—”

There’s a beat of silence as they all try to forget Shiro throwing up everywhere.

“You know,” Coran says, and gestures loosely, “but, he also had quite a number of knives with him. All cutlery is accounted for, thank goodness, but I can only assume he was taking them for, well, defensive purposes.”

Hunk notices the new silence that falls on the group as they realize what this means. It’s a lot more foreboding. Coran isn’t coming out and saying it, but it means Shiro was probably planning to do harm, more so than he already has. Which is saying something. Hunk had practically carried Keith to the medbay when he was so dazed from the hit to the head and the bite that he could barely walk.

Allura is the first to break the spell.

“Do you think he is a threat?” Allura asks softly.

“No!” Keith shouts quickly. His hands ball into fists.

Lance leans across Hunk’s lap to talk to Keith, “Look, we all know you idolize Shiro, but you gotta face the facts: he’s _not_ the Shiro you know!”

“I thought he was your hero too,” Pidge points out.

“He is! But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna ignore the fact that he’s _not_ okay and probably wants to kill all of us!”

“Shiro’s not crazy!” Keith yells.

“No, but _you’re_ crazy for thinking he’s fine!” Lance yells back. Hunk wishes he was anywhere but the middle of this fight right now. He just wants to melt into the couch and disappear forever.

“Paladins!” Allura shouts. Keith and Lance flinch away from each other, crossing their arms over their chests and pointedly looking anywhere but at each other as they sulk.

“Okay, fingerfoods,” Hunk agrees, and pushes Lance out of his lap, “I can do that.”

“And, for now, no one should be alone with him,” Coran says, and he looks like every word is sour in his mouth, “we all know Shiro’s a formidable fighter. And right now, until we understand him better, he has the potential to be very dangerous to us.”

“Except for when I scared him, he’s been fine,” Keith insists, “this is Shiro we’re talking about!”

“Except you seem to be missing the whole point that he was trying to _kill_ you!” Lance snaps.

“Enough!” Allura orders.

Keith scowls and hunches his shoulders. He tucks his chin down, and Hunk wonders if he imagined the tears in Keith’s eyes or not.

“There’s still one more thing,” Pidge speaks up.

Everyone turns to look at her.

Pidge grimaces, “His arm. We didn’t really have time to do a scan of it, but I’m sure there’s some bad stuff in there. Like that collar we took off of him, it probably has a lot of failsafe’s in it or ways to, you know, control him.”

“So we’re trying to tell him he’s safe, and then take away his arm?” Keith demands.

“I don’t want to do it! But the Galra might be able to hurt him with it!” Pidge replies.

“We’ll have to do it tomorrow,” Allura sighs heavily, “Pidge is right. We can’t trust a Galra prosthetic.”

The implicit _again_ rings out in the group. This is their third time being faced with Shiro’s prosthetic. This time they’ll make the right call. It doesn’t mean that Hunk likes the idea.

“That sounds really intense you guys,” Hunk says, “should we maybe think a little more on it?”

“You heard Pidge,” Lance says, “they could use it to hurt him. I think we have to do it, to finish getting him out of the prison.”

Hunk sees the sense in it. It just… why does it have to be bad? Shiro’s safe now, why can’t that be enough?

“Besides,” Lance nudges his shoulder to Hunk’s, “I’m sure you can design him a better arm! One that won’t mess up his brain or try to kill him!”

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees nervously, “that’d be, like, a really big deal. But I think I can.”

“I doubt he’s going to be happy about it,” Coran sighs, “and if he fights… well, that won’t go well for anyone.”

“We’ll talk to him,” Lance says like it’s obvious, “we tell him everything, right? Shiro might not like it, but if he knows we’re trying to help him, that’s going to be okay.”

“Just don’t scare him,” Pidge says.

“It’s in his best interest. Shiro has— or, at least… those things pretending to be Shiro were always practical. I assume the real Shiro is very similar,” Allura agrees.

“So we’ll talk to him at breakfast,” Keith says, “and if he says it’s not okay we can’t do anything. Right?”

“If the Galra can track us through him, we may be forced to act,” Allura says.

“We can’t just attack him!” Pidge says.

“Of course not!” Allura agrees, “but we have to be prepared.”

“So he doesn’t get a choice,” Keith realizes, “we’re trying to tell him he’s free, but he doesn’t get a choice in us ripping off his arm.”

“We’re not ripping it off,” Pidge points out, “it won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t like it,” Keith says, “I think this is a bad idea.”

“I hear your worries,” Allura agrees, “but I’m afraid I must go against your wishes. We all want the best for Shiro, and unfortunately we must do this thing before he can get better.”

 

* * *

 

Hunk lays in his bed and thinks of Shiro, just a few doors down, and how easy it would be for Shiro to come hurt him. He reasons that Shiro wouldn’t. That Shiro is someone he’s looked up to since meeting him during orientation at the Garrison. How Shiro’s always been the leader Hunk wishes he could be. Someone to admire, and be inspired by. Someone Hunk has always trusted.

Someone who scares him, a little, if Hunk’s being honest with himself.

If Hunk were being more honest he’d admit that Shiro scares him more than a little. Shiro scares him a _lot_. But that… to say that… that makes Hunk a bad person, doesn’t it?

Shiro survived the Galra prisons for this long. Hunk met Shiro back on earth, and he _knows_ Shiro was a good person. Just because he went through hell doesn’t change that… does it? Hunk should be feeling sympathy for Shiro, he should be doing everything he can to help him. And he does feel that, and he wants to get Shiro back to normal.

But it doesn’t change the fact that Shiro is terrifying.

Hunk lays awake long enough that he decides he should go to the bathroom, just for something to do.

He opens his door and freezes. There’s someone standing in the hall, just across from him. Oh no, oh no it’s Shiro and he’s going to kill them all and—

“Hunk!” Lance hisses, “ _shh_! You’re gonna wake everyone up!”

Hunk claps a hand over his mouth as he steps out into the hall. Lance yawns and lifts a hand to rub at his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“What are you doing?” Hunk whispers as he joins his friend.

Lance pushes himself off the wall and stretches his arms over his head. His back pops and cracks in ways that make Hunk feel queasy if he thinks about them too long.

“Keeping watch,” Lance mumbles. He settles back in, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Keeping watch?” Hunk repeats slowly, and then his brain catches up, “oh, from Shiro?”

“Are you gonna yell at me too?” Lance asks, and glances up at him. Hunk furrows his brow in confusion so Lance goes back to looking at the line of bedroom doors across from them, “Keith saw me earlier when he went to bed. I’m sure he covered everything you’re probably thinking. ‘Lance why are you such an asshole?’, or, ‘Lance I can’t believe you care about anything other than your beauty sleep!’. Got anything else to add?”

Hunk knows Lance gets really cranky when he’s tired. And if he’s been up all night rather than trying to sleep, it means he’s scared too.

“Why… how are you so okay in being mean about Shiro?” Hunk asks.

Lance groans and makes a fist for a moment as he thinks, “I’m _not_ being mean about Shiro. Okay, maybe it’s coming across that way, but, like, he tried to _kill_ Keith. And everyone wants to just pretend like that didn’t happen! I feel like I’m the only sane person here.”

“No one’s pretending that,” Hunk says.

“Shiro can walk out his door and kill us all in our sleep,” Lance says bluntly, “we don’t have any security, any cameras, any warnings, nothing! We’re just trusting that Shiro suddenly remembers the guy he was before he was forced to become a killer, like, two years ago. No, I think you’re all being dumb and I’m not going to let anyone else get hurt if I can stop it.”

It strikes close to home. Hunk feels uncomfortable thinking about anyone from the team being hurt. Lance is still fuming, so Hunk tries to lighten the tone rather than add fuel to his fire.

“Even Keith?” Hunk teases.

“Especially Keith,” Lance sighs, bluntly honest, “our fearless leader is having a hard time. You know he never wanted to be in charge. He wants Shiro to come back so he can step down, and I want that too. I miss the Blue Lion. But Shiro’s not ready for any of that. He needs more time before we can even think about taking him to the Lions.”

The tone in Lance’s voice has changed, and Hunk leans down to talk to him, “Are you… you sound like you’re worried about Shiro too, like, how he is?”

“Of course I’m worried!” Lance throws his hands up, and then remembers the late hour and goes back to whispering, “everyone must think that I hate Shiro, but I don’t. He’s, like, my hero. I— I don’t even know how to feel about what he went through. It’s all terrible, but it doesn’t mean that we should just treat him like a lost dog. He’s dangerous, and I hate that I’m the only one who seems to understand that. I just want to help him, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“This sucks,” Hunk agrees, and then hears Lance’s breath hitch with a sob.

Hunk reaches out to wrap an arm around Lance’s shoulders. Lance falls into him with familiarity, and breathes a little easier. He sniffles. Hunk holds him while Lance composes himself.

“I’m not crying,” Lance mutters.

“Of course not,” Hunk says, “but you should go to bed.”

Lance shakes his head, “I gotta… I gotta be here. If Shiro gets out he— he could—”

“We’ll lock our doors,” Hunk offers.

“He could get lost,” Lance says firmly, “if he goes the wrong way. He’ll end up deep in the Castle where we can’t find him.”

“We have a big day tomorrow,” Hunk points out, “we need everyone rested.”

Lance glances up at him, “Are you mothering me?”

“Go to bed,” Hunk urges.

Lance frowns and looks down to their feet before looking up again, “You’re scared too, right?”

Hunk feels like he should lie, but he’s never been able to lie to Lance. He nods in agreement.

“Okay,” Lance sighs in defeat and rubs his eyes again, “tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says with a soft laugh, “you’re the worst when you’re tired.”

“Am not,” Lance argues. There’s no heat to it, so Hunk pushes him towards his room.

Hunk makes it to the bathroom alone, and is acutely aware of his isolation. He keeps checking over his shoulder and gets back to his room as fast as he can. The hall is still silent, there’s no light on in Shiro’s room. He’s probably just sleeping, like everyone else.

For the first time in his life, Hunk locks his door.

It doesn’t make it any easier to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Shiro doesn’t bother them in the night. Hunk had kinda assumed he’d be the type to have nightmares where he woke up screaming, but there was nothing.

At some point Hunk dozes, and then wakes up to Keith knocking on his door.

“Hunk?” Keith calls softly, “I, uh, I want to go see if Shiro’s up.”

Hunk rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he goes to open his door, “Okay?”

His door doesn’t open. And Hunk’s stomach rolls as he remembers that he locked it.

“Just a sec,” Hunk says, and bites his lip. He feels queasy with guilt.

Turning off the lock, the small beeps the console makes as Hunk enters the sequence, sound impossibly loud. He knows Keith can hear it. That Keith knows what he’s doing, and that he knows Hunk locked his door because of Shiro.

The door opens and Hunk can’t bring himself to meet Keith’s eyes. Keith has never been good at keeping eye contact with people anyways. Small mercies.

Hunk breaks the silence carefully, “So, uh, what can I do?”

Keith keeps his eyes on his feet, “Coran said we… we have to go together. Remember?”

Oh, oh right. It looks like it’s killing Keith to do this.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunk agrees, “okay, I can be your partner.”

Hunk steps back to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He’s so tired. And dealing with Shiro— with the possibility of getting attacked— is not the first thing Hunk wants to do. He turns slowly to look for his slippers and yawns again.

“Forget it,” Keith says, “sorry for waking you up. It’s Shiro. I can go by myself.”

“No,” Hunk says quickly, “I’m going with you.”

They make their way down the hall, soft lights of the morning cycle turning on for them. Hunk wonders why Keith didn’t just go on his own in the first place? For sure Pidge would have gone with him without being a scaredy-cat, but Pidge is a nightmare of rage when she gets woken up in the morning. Lance, well, Hunk doesn’t think Keith would ever ask Lance for help unless he was dying. Maybe even then. Not to mention Keith probably thinks that Lance doesn’t like Shiro, or him. Hunk doesn’t think it’s his place to bring it up, but he hates it when Keith and Lance get in a fight like this. They’re both so stubborn it takes a lot for them to admit that they might have done something wrong.

So Keith had no choice but to come to him. But Keith has never followed rules he doesn’t agree with. If he thinks Shiro’s fine, then why would he follow Coran’s rule—

It strikes Hunk suddenly that Keith must be scared too. Probably just a little bit, but he knows Shiro isn’t okay right now. That Shiro could hurt them. That Shiro _has_ hurt Keith.

That makes Hunk feel a little better. If Keith is scared, and out of all of them Keith loves Shiro the most, it means Hunk isn’t being a bad person by feeling afraid.

Keith knocks on Shiro’s door while Hunk yawns into his hand. There’s no response.

What if Shiro’s gone already and lurking out somewhere on the ship? It makes Hunk feel uneasy in his own home. He doesn’t like that one bit.

“Shiro?” Keith calls quietly, “are you up? It’s me, Keith. And Hunk.”

Keith knocks again. Since they moved into the Paladin barracks the other Shiros were always been awake before any of them. So it’s weird for Hunk to consider that maybe the real Shiro is still sleeping. He did have a big day yesterday, being saved from the Galra and all.

They’re both quiet, straining to listen. Hunk is pretty sure he hears movement inside.

“If— if you don’t want us to come in, you don’t have to hide,” Keith says. He balls his hands into fists, but doesn’t move.

And then, Hunk hears Shiro’s voice through the door, “I’m ready.”

Keith opens the door, and Shiro’s standing near the back of the room, facing them. Hunk is immediately hit with the smell of vomit and almost pukes as well.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks worriedly. At first Hunk thinks Keith is talking to him, but realizes quickly that he’s more concerned about Shiro. Hunk feels a little silly for thinking that Keith would be worried about him.

“May I have an escort to the fresher?” Shiro says instead.

Yeah, he probably wants to wash up. Looks like he got sick in the corner. Hunk is thankful he hasn’t eaten anything yet himself.

Hunk thinks it’s weird that he didn’t go to the bathroom to puke, but maybe it all came up too fast. Hunk has had that happen to him many times. Not to mention, the castle is pretty scary when you’re new. Not that Shiro would be scared of anything.

“We can totally go with you,” Hunk says.

Shiro glances between the two of them, and that’s the only part of him that moves. It’s very unnerving, especially this early in the morning. His long hair looks a lot better now, though it’s still dried in a tangle, and the patchy stubble on his face keeps throwing Hunk off. He’s out of the prisoner uniform, into some normal clothes, yet he still doesn’t look like Shiro.

Keith takes charge, “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

They’ll need Coran’s help to get one of the cleaning bots going for the mess Shiro made in his room.

The tap has been running long enough that Hunk and Keith both glance at each other, and then Keith gets up from leaning against the wall to pop his head in. The Paladin bathrooms are communal, so there’s two sinks set right near the door. Shiro looks like he’s washing his face and drinking from one of them.

“Shiro? You good?” Keith asks.

“Is he… having a bath?” Hunk asks.

Shiro jumps at their voices, and then snaps into a vaguely at-attention pose. Like he was caught doing something wrong.

“Do you want to shower?” Hunk guesses. He was probably washing the taste out of his mouth. Maybe he got a little on him too. That’s really gross to think about, Hunk wants off this train of thought right now.

Shiro glances over at the shower pod. His body stays perfectly still except for his eyes moving.

“You can shower, we’ll wait,” Keith says.

Shiro moves slowly, looking at them like he thinks they’re going to say something else, and gets into one of the shower pods. Hunk isn’t sure what the look was about, and he doesn’t know how to ask without feeling like he’s being rude.

They hear the rustling of Shiro taking off his clothes, and then the shower starts running.

“You should go get breakfast put together,” Keith says, and turns to Hunk, “if that’s okay?”

“But, then you—” Hunk starts.

“We’ll be fine. He’s just showering, and then we’ll come to you. But, I figure, it’d be good to have breakfast ready for him. To be nice, you know?” Keith says, “plus, maybe you can just do leftovers and make a plate for him.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees. Instead of laying all the food out, just hand Shiro a plate. That way he won’t eat himself sick again.

“Good idea,” Hunk turns to leave, and pauses a moment, “are you _sure_ you’re okay? I could get Pidge, or Coran, or someone.”

Keith clenches his jaw in the way he does when he’s decided to do something, even against all reason. It’s the same look he gets right before throwing himself out of an airlock with no way to get back inside.

“It’s Shiro,” he says, “I’ll be fine.”

Hunk runs into Coran and Allura while he’s putting together a plate for Shiro. He remembers to tell them that Shiro got sick again, and Coran heads off to get one of the cleaning machines started so he can get that taken care of before breakfast. Hunk and Allura spend a while figuring out just how much food they should serve to Shiro, so he doesn’t feel like they’re starving him, but so he won’t eat himself sick again. They go back and forth on portion sizes, and trying to remember which leftovers he liked best.

In the end Hunk thinks they did a good job.

Pidge joins them, and tells them that Lance had taken up guard with Keith, as Shiro was still in the shower.

“He probably hasn’t had one in a while,” Pidge shrugs, “I know I take forever in them.”

“Yeah when we make you,” Hunk teases.

The three of them sit around the table, yawning, for a while longer.

“About Shiro’s prosthetic,” Allura says warily, “how long will it take to dismantle?”

“Depends on the software they’ve got in it,” Pidge says, “I mean, I studied the _other_ Shiro… ‘s… _Shiroses_ prosthetics as much as I could. I think I know what we’re expecting. And once I have it all offline, then it’ll just be the whole taking it off part.”

“An estimation?” Allura asks.

“A few hours, probably,” Pidge says.

“Are you and Hunk able to handle that?” Allura asks, glancing between the two of them.

Hunk’s stomach flip-flops. The other Shiros had never liked them playing with his arm. At first everyone had assumed he had a lot of uncomfortable memories around it, and it could easily trigger him to have anyone working on it. Now, though, Hunk wonders if he was just hiding from them. Maybe if they’d forced Shiro— the android Shiro, either of them— to let them look at his arm, they would have realized he was a threat sooner.

“Of course,” Pidge says. Hunk nods in agreement. Pidge has the _hard_ job. All Hunk has to do is unscrew bolts and keep the arm in one piece when they remove it.

They hear Lance’s loud voice— really, it’s his inside voice. He’s just always loud— coming down the halls. Hunk double-checks that they gave Shiro the right amount of food, and wonders again if he made the right choices in what Shiro liked.

The doors slide open and Lance and Keith come in, with Shiro and Coran just behind them. Shiro’s wearing a new shirt. It’s in a long Altean cut, so Coran must have hunted it down for him to give him something fresh to change into. It’s weird not seeing him in black.

His hair is a frizzy, towel-dried mess and half of it is hanging in his face. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Morning!” Pidge calls.

Everyone but Shiro returns the greeting. Shiro blinks slowly and only moves his eyes as he looks around.

Hunk picks up the plate they made for Shiro and holds it out to him, “Hey, we have breakfast for you, Shiro.”

Shiro stares at him with narrowed eyes, and then methodically turns his gaze on everyone else in the room. Hunk feels like he’s sizing them all up, debating whether to attack or not.

“Are you hungry?” Keith asks.

“Oh, yeah, are you still feeling sick?” Lance realizes.

Shiro looks one last time at the food before turning to Lance and Keith, “May I have the food?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course! You don’t need permission,” Lance says.

Shiro breaks from the group and walks to take the plate from Hunk. Behind his back, Lance mouths ‘ _what the hell_?’ to Hunk. Keith punches him in the arm.

“I tried to pick everything you liked,” Hunk says as Shiro sits down.

Shiro seems annoyed that Hunk even talked to him. He stays still, looking down at his food and looks over at Coran and Allura without moving his head.

“We’re eating with our fingers today,” Coran says cheerfully, sitting down, “so dig in everyone!”

Part of Hunk thought that something would have changed, but Shiro still dives into his food like he’s never going to eat again. After what Coran had said about Shiro being starved last night, and, well, just looking at him. It makes sense to Hunk. Shiro’s face is gaunt and his ribs were showing last night when he got out of the shower, but at the same time he’s got well-defined and large muscles. He looks like a really unhealthy bodybuilder.

Hunk picks at his own food. It’s a little weird to be eating with fingers, but it’s kind of fun too. He tries to tune out Shiro nearly inhaling his meal, and feels bad that he still thinks it’s gross. Shiro’s used to being starved; Hunk needs to stop judging him. Not that he’s _judging_ Shiro, but it still turns his stomach to hear someone chewing with their mouth open and to be licking crumbs right out of their hand.

“Shiro,” Allura speaks up, and Shiro drops over his plate, covering it, and looks up at her.

“Relax. No one’s taking your food,” Coran reminds him.

“We have a favor to ask of you,” Allura says, “and… I’m very sorry, but it’s paramount to your, and our, safety.”

Shiro sits up straight, almost leaning away, but doesn’t say anything. He’s staring straight at Allura though.

Allura sighs sadly, “We believe it’s in your best interest if we remove your prosthetic. It has the potential to harm you, as well as endanger everyone here. We would like to remove it today, with your cooperation.”

Shiro nods, a quick jerk of his chin. Hunk is… a little surprised. He thought it was going to be a lot more difficult.

“Hunk and I will take care of it,” Pidge speaks up, “you’re in good hands.”

“And Hunk said he could build you another one,” Lance adds, “or maybe even a better one.”

“This will be… after the meal?” Shiro asks. His voice sounds so rough, like he barely uses it anymore.

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “and we can wait a bit if you’re feeling queasy.”

“You’re okay?” Keith asks worriedly. He leans in towards Shiro.

Shiro nods again. He goes back to eating, but there’s no urgency. He looks like he’s forcing himself through it again.

The rest of the meal passes quietly.

Hunk is actually pretty relieved that they’re going to be taking Shiro’s prosthetic from him. It sucks that it could hurt him, but the reality is that he can do a lot of damage with it if he wanted to. Taking that away makes him a little less scary. Shiro’s still very dangerous, even without the arm, but now he won’t be able to cut anyone in half with one hand. Hunk’s seen him do it to enough sentries to know that a human would be no problem for him.

That’s the only thing making Hunk look forwards to the operation. Otherwise the idea of having to stay so close to someone who tried to kill Keith for startling him absolutely terrifies Hunk. If he makes the wrong move, or accidentally hurts Shiro, there’s no telling what might happen.

As a group they all head for the medbay. It’s got the exam table which will be the most comfortable for Shiro to lie on all day. Shiro keeps his head down and doesn’t say anything.

“This is our medbay,” Coran announces as the doors open, “hopefully you’ll never need to use it, but any medicinal supplies can be found here. Currently I’m—”

Hunk smacks right into Shiro’s back when Shiro freezes mid-stride. Hunk leaps back, away from danger, knocking into Keith who was bringing up the rear.

“What’s up?” Pidge asks, turning around at Keith’s squawk of surprise.

“Number one, are you alright?” Coran asks quickly.

Hunk can’t see Shiro’s face, but from behind he can see that Shiro’s shoulders are tight and drawn up. He’s tense, like he’s ready to attack.

“We’re just removing the Galra arm,” Lance says quickly, “like we talked about. Because it might be used to hurt you.”

Hunk hears Shiro take two quick, shaky breaths, before he marches into the room. Allura, Pidge and Lance are right behind him. Keith shoves past Hunk in an attempt to get to Shiro’s side.

Coran breezes around the room, pulling out the work trolley and getting all the lights on.

Keith and Pidge show Shiro to the exam bench, telling him to lie down. Shiro’s glaring at everyone and breathing quickly and loudly through his nose. Under the bright examination lights he looks deathly pale, and that’s a feat considering how pale he already is.

Lance slides Pidge a rolling chair— actually, it’s a hovering chair and Hunk is still very fascinated by the fact that it acts like a rolling chair even though it doesn’t have wheels— and she hops into it and starts up her laptop. She’s perched at the end of the table, closer to Shiro’s feet simply by virtue of that’s where she intercepted the chair. Once she gets working she’ll scoot up to Shiro’s arm, but she’d distracted in getting set up.

“So right now all you really need to do is chill,” Pidge explains to Shiro, “I’m gonna turn off all the functions of your arm so that it’ll just be dead weight, and then Hunk will take it off. You can nap if you—”

Pidge’s laptop nearly smacks her face when Shiro’s foot connects with it. She topples backwards out of her chair with a shout. Keith has the good sense to spring back as Shiro punches at him, and he loses his footing and hits the ground. Hunk can only watch in shock as Shiro rolls off the table, eyes focused right on Pidge.

Hunk needs to move. Pidge is in danger. He can hear Coran and Lance shouting. Hunk has to save Pidge, he’s close enough. But that means taking on Shiro and Hunk knows he can’t do that. He’s not a fighter. He’s scared.

Just as Shiro gets a hand on Pidge’s laptop, Lance tackles Shiro at a run, throwing him to the floor. Keith is back on his feet and leaping the exam table in one bound to join Lance.

“Look out!” Coran shouts.

“Shiro what the hell? Stop it!” Lance shouts.

He’s trying to pin Shiro, but while Shiro’s severely starved, he still weighs nearly twice as much as Lance. Shiro manages to jab Lance roughly in the ribs with his left fist, just as Keith dives in to pin Shiro’s prosthetic.

Lance crumples into a ball with a shout, and Shiro heaves to try and shake Keith off.

“Calm down!” Keith orders, “we’re your friends!”

Shiro’s teeth are bared in a snarl, and the scariest part is that he isn’t even shouting anything. No words, no thoughts or reasons for his actions. He grunts with the hits, and lets out a wordless yell when Lance recovers enough to throw his weight onto Shiro’s left arm. Lance is still wincing from the blow. Hunk needs to move. Allura is checking up on Pidge, and when she stands up there’s blood on her hands.

“Shiro!” Allura shouts, deafening in the room, “stop this!”

Shiro goes still. He has to crane his neck to see her from where he’s been pinned on his back, but his gaze is focused on Allura.

Everyone is shocked by the immediate response, Allura included.

“What— what is _wrong_ with you?” Allura demands, “we are trying to _help_ you! You promised not to hurt anyone!”

Shiro drops his head back to the floor, and in the stunned silence, he lets out a wheezing laugh. Hunk’s hair stands on end. Why is he laughing?

“What’s so funny?” Allura asks. So far she’s been the only one who can overpower Shiro. Lance and Keith maintain their positions on Shiro’s arms, and Allura walks to stand over them.

“I promised not to bite,” Shiro growls, “and I _didn’t_.”

Hunk knew it. He knew it. Just like Rolo and Nyma, his gut has been telling him that Shiro is bad news. That he’s not a good person anymore. Shiro’s been waiting to hurt them, and waited until right now to strike.

Hunk still thinks it’s weird that he waited until now— he’s had plenty of other opportunities.

Finally, Hunk breaks free of his stupor and can make his way to Pidge’s side. He’s got a cloth for her to put to her face. Right now he doesn’t know if it’s her nose or mouth that’s bleeding. His heart is hammering in his chest. Shiro’s not who they think he is. He’s mean, and vicious and dangerous. Everything Lance was worried about, everything that no one wanted to admit because they all want to love Shiro and have him back to normal.

“You purposefully deceived my words,” Allura says slowly, “why do you even care about words if you’re looking to harm?”

“You know why,” Shiro spits. Keith and Lance adjust their weights to keep him down, “oaths are binding to your kind.”

Allura gasps loudly. She staggers back, and catches herself on the exam table. Hunk has no idea what Shiro just said that’s so shocking. Keith and Lance don’t look like they know either.

Coran babbles for a moment, trying to find his words, “Shiro, you—”

“You’re right,” Allura cuts him off, “oaths to me are binding. So let us make this clear: you are not to lay a hand on any of my crew. Ever. Do you understand?”

Shiro lets out a shaky breath, and looks away from Allura.

“An answer, Shiro,” Allura says firmly, “promise me you will not hurt anyone in my crew.”

Shiro clenches his jaw so firmly Hunk thinks he might hear his teeth grinding.

He glares back at Allura, “I promise,” he finally says.

Hunk has no idea what just happened.

“You can let him up,” Allura says. She sounds exhausted, all of a sudden.

“What?” Lance asks.

“He promised,” Allura says in way of explanation.

Keith and Lance glance at each other, and as if they rehearsed it, sit back at the same time. Shiro pulls himself into a seated position with his head down.

“Coran,” Allura calls, “can you please— can you take over here?”

“Of course, Princess,” Coran says, “are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Allura waves him off, “I just… I need to take a walk.”

She leaves without another word. Hunk feels like he missed something huge. How can she leave them alone with Shiro?

Coran clears his throat, “Alright. Shiro, if you will, can you get back up on the bench? Number Five, how are you faring?”

“I’m good,” Pidge says, “might need a touch-up before we go.”

Shiro silently gets to his feet. He stares at the floor as he marches to the bench and lays down on it. He keeps his hands at his side and stares up at the ceiling with such focus, Hunk wonders if he’s trying to burn a hole in it.

Lance, Keith and Coran make their way over to check on Pidge. Lance is curled protectively over his side.

“Yikes,” Lance observes, “you look like Keith.”

“ _You_ look like Keith,” Pidge snorts, and grimaces in pain.

“Hey,” Keith protests, though it’s half-hearted. Keith’s method of leaping into things ahead of the team usually mean he ends up having to get patched up the most. It’s become a bit of a running joke.

Coran kneels down to hold Pidge’s face in his hands and twist her head around so he can see the damage. She whimpers when he touches her chin.

“Just a split lip, I think,” and he sighs in relief, “I’ve got some stuff that’ll have that healed up in a matter of vargas.”

Hunk glances past the group at Shiro. He hasn’t moved, still staring straight up. His hands are balled into fists at his side.

Coran starts giving some orders, “Keith can you fetch the spray in the— no, the other drawer, yes, thank you.”

It’s pretty easy to spray Pidge’s face, though she whines at the awful taste.

“Lance I need to get a scan of you to make sure you’re alright,” Coran says.

“I think it was just a good hit,” Lance groans, but he still doesn’t stand up straight.

“No,” Keith decides, “you have to start looking like Lance again.”

Lance wrinkles his nose, “Was that a joke?”

“Because— you guys say you look like me,” Keith mutters.

Lance laughs, and then groans and doubles over further.

“Number Three, number Four, with me,” Coran decides, “Pidge, Hunk, are you two okay to get started?”

“As long as my laptop survived, we’re fine,” Pidge waves him off.

Keith helps escort Lance out of the room. The two of them continue pestering each other, though Hunk notices that Lance is clutching onto Keith’s jacket pretty tightly. He might be in more pain than he’s letting on.

And now they’re alone with Shiro. Who still hasn’t moved.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Hunk finally says, “Pidge, are you sure you want to be here with him?”

Pidge winces as she dabs off her lip. There’s blood smeared up her cheek and in her teeth, “If we don’t do this, he might get hurt.”

“Aren’t you scared?” Hunk asks.

Pidge pauses thoughtfully, and glances over to Shiro, “Yeah,” she admits, “I… I thought he was gonna really hurt me. If Lance hadn’t… I don’t know, I froze up. But it— this is Shiro. Maybe his head is all messed up from whatever that prosthetic is doing to him.”

Hunk keeps his voice down, “Or… or maybe this is who Shiro is now.”

Pidge narrows her eyes and then shakes her head, “No. No this can’t be what the Galra made him into. Because they have my— my family. And they can’t turn good people into bad people. They _can’t_.”

She sounds so sure of herself that for a moment Hunk completely believes she’s right.

Pidge staggers to her feet and collects her laptop. She clutches it to her chest as she approaches Shiro.

“Hey,” she says softly. Shiro doesn’t look at her, “we’re gonna try this again. Don’t— don’t hurt me, okay?”

Hunk is right behind Pidge, and if he’s being honest he’s a little disgusted with himself that he’s letting Pidge lead the way. She’s so much braver than he could ever hope to be.

They’re both moving slowly, though Shiro shows no sign of movement.

Pidge pulls up the chair slowly, moving away from Shiro’s kicking range and up closer to his side.

“I’ll need you to hold your arm out, so it rests on this,” Pidge explains. Shiro takes a few loud breaths, and then obeys. He extends his prosthetic out so it’s perpendicular to his body, lying on the work table they pulled up for Pidge and Hunk to use.

From all their poking around and knowledge of the other Shiro’s arms, Pidge easily finds the ports for her to connect to and starts setting herself up. Shiro doesn’t make a sound, or move a muscle. Hunk’s starting to find it really creepy.

“So you believe in promises?” Pidge muses as she adjusts some wires. Shiro doesn’t move to show he even heard her.

“If you promise not to hurt me,” Pidge says, “I promise not to hurt you, okay?”

Shiro blinks and finally looks at Pidge. She smiles.

Pidge gets distracted in her codes. She mutters to herself and types away at a speed Hunk can’t keep up with. Hunk stands back to let her work, and keeps an eye on Shiro. He’s looking up again, and not blinking or moving. Pidge has the hard work, so Hunk settles in to let her take her time. He’ll have to go get his tools eventually, but he won’t leave Pidge alone.

Not that he’ll be much help. Hunk’s mouth tastes sour with the regret that he hadn’t jumped to Pidge’s defense when Shiro attacked her. Some Paladin he is.

Pidge breaks the silence, “Okay, you should feel it deactivate right about—”

Shiro slams his left fist onto the work bench. He’s clenching his teeth and staring straight up.

“Did that hurt?” Pidge asks quickly, “it shouldn’t have hurt. Are you okay?”

Shiro turns his head away from them and doesn’t say anything.

“Are you hurt? Can we help?” Pidge presses, “do I need to stop?”

“I’m fine,” Shiro grunts back, but he doesn’t look back to them.

Hunk settles in as Pidge continues. He takes up the other chair and sits away from Shiro and Pidge, idly picking the dirt out from under his nails or trying to smooth the wrinkles in his pants. Pidge babbles every so often, but Hunk knows from experience that she’s not actually conversing, and talking to her actually confuses her. Shiro doesn’t ever talk back. He breathes heavily through his nose, and after a while Hunk tunes it out as white noise. At some point Shiro throws his arm over his face to block out the light. Hunk hopes he just goes to sleep.

The tension has died down at least. Hunk no longer feels like he’s braced to run, screaming and crying for whenever Shiro decides to try and kill them again.

 

* * *

 

The doors open and Keith meanders in. Hunk has almost dozed off.

“Lance will be fine, he’s just getting some rest right now,” Keith announces as he comes in, “we decided not to use a cryopod, but Coran did something to him that took forever.”

“He was that bad?” Hunk asks worriedly. He hadn’t realized Lance was so hurt. Hunk should have been with him. He gets to his feet and takes a few steps towards Keith. Maybe he should go see Lance right now.

“Nothing broken, but it nearly was. At least, that’s what Coran says. Lance said everything felt broken,” Keith shrugs, “but he’ll be fine. How’s it going here?”

Shiro’s still on the bench, right arm sticking out perpendicular to his body as a dead weight, and the other thrown over his face as he tries to sleep. Pidge is tucked in beside him, head down and completely focused on his prosthetic.

Keith makes a point of stomping his shoes on the floor as he walks over to Shiro, approaching from over Pidge’s shoulder.

“Hey Shiro,” Keith says, “how are you holding up?”

There’s a heavy inhale from Shiro, his chest rises and falls dramatically with a louder exhale.

“Yeah you never really liked this kinda thing,” Keith agrees, “can I, uh, get you anything? Food? Water?”

Shiro says something, but it’s really muffled. Pidge lifts her head to listen, and Keith and Hunk lean in.

“What’d you say?” Pidge asks.

Shiro lifts his arm as he turns his head and Hunk nearly doubles over with the effort not to get sick. There’s a huge wound on Shiro’s arm where he’s been biting a chunk out of himself, and blood all over his face.

Keith doesn’t take his eyes off Shiro and he frantically flaps his arm to find Hunk’s shoulder, “Hunk— go get Coran! Now!”

Pidge is yelling in shock, Hunk is yelling too. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is there to say? What can you _do_? How do you respond when someone does that to their own arm?

“How much longer is this going to take?” Shiro asks again. There’s so much blood in his mouth that it runs down his face.

Hunk runs for the nearest concave item and hurls.

 

* * *

 

Hunk sets the trays in the oven and then sits down on the floor. He doesn’t have the energy to make it to the counters or even to a chair. He’s just… he’s so tired. And embarrassed.

Everything after Shiro revealing that he’d been gnawing a hole in his arm was a blur. He barely remembers finding Coran, running back into the room, and then Shiro responding to the action by leaping off the bench. He wasn’t expecting his prosthetic to be such dead weight, and he fell, nearly taking Pidge’s laptop down again as it was still connected to him. Pidge dove to catch it, while Keith and Coran were trying to corral Shiro.

Shiro didn’t put up any fight, and went back to the bench with some help from Keith to hold his prosthetic up. Coran had Keith hold pressure over Shiro’s arm, while Pidge and Coran scrambled for supplies to clean up. Shiro was baring his teeth at them, shaking and white with shock from the self-inflicted injury. There was blood splattered everywhere, all down Shiro’s arm, on his shirt, his face, the floor…

Hunk left.

He didn’t just leave, he ran away.

Unable to face anyone, he didn’t go to Lance. He couldn’t stomach the thought of hiding away in his room. Hunk had all this nervous energy, this fear, this shame, this anxiety racing through him.

He found himself in the kitchen and knew immediately what he had to do.

And so now here he is. Without a task, waiting for the cookies to bake, and forced to confront the fact that he’s a coward.

This isn’t exactly _news_ news. Hunk has never been brave of heart, or mind, or anything, really. He tends to go into most situations wishing he was anywhere but, and holding Lance’s hand for support. No one would ever call Hunk a hero— though he can rise to the occasion, well, occasionally.

Hunk bites at his nails. No one has come looking for him. They’re all probably with Shiro still. Now that Pidge has deactivated his arm, they’ll have to finish removing it. Coran might be able to do it, so they won’t even need to come find Hunk. Which is a good thing too. He doesn’t know how he’s going to face them after this. They’ve all joked about what a scaredy-cat Hunk is, but for it to happen when his team needed him? It’s not fair.

But he doesn’t know how to handle Shiro! He doesn’t know what to do with someone who’s so angry and violent he’s just waiting for a moment to strike. Every inch of Hunk is terrified of Shiro and what he’s capable of, and that’s _awful_. He worries his nail more, finding some relief in the action.

Hunk pulls his headband down to cover his eyes, and starts to sniffle. He can’t cry. The headband will keep him from crying.

This is the same headband that had actually introduced him to Shiro, years ago, during Hunk’s orientation at the Garrison. He’d taken it off because he realized it wasn’t regulation and was afraid of being singled out. Then he’d lost it.

Hunk had started crying then too. He didn’t want to call home and tell Nana he’d lost her gift. And that’s when Shiro— who had done the big ‘Welcome to the Garrison’ speech because he was one of the finalists to be selected to fly the Kerberos Mission— the real, live Shiro who Hunk’s new roommate, Lance, wouldn’t shut up about, found him.

Shiro was clearly on his way to somewhere else, but dropped everything to help Hunk out.

In the end they found the headband in one of Hunk’s pockets, on the inside of his uniform that he still wasn’t used to having. He was mortified, but Shiro had laughed it off and told him he should wear it. Shiro even bought him a soda before they parted ways. It was the nicest thing Hunk could think of, especially when he felt so embarrassed and had been so stressed out all afternoon.

Lance hadn’t believed Hunk’s story, but then told Hunk he needed to wear his headband every day because it was blessed. Hunk thought he was exaggerating but… it had always felt a little special after that day.

And now Shiro is this… this person who tried to kill Keith, who kicked Pidge and punched Lance hard enough to hurt him. Who bit _himself_ for no reason! Who laughs when he hurts them, who steals knives to use on them later—

Hunk bites too hard on his nail and rips it deep enough to bleed. He hisses and tries to shake the pain out. _Ouch_ , _ouch_! He hates when he hurts himself. It means he’s really stressed about—

Holy shit. If Hunk wasn’t sitting down already he would have fallen over.

Shiro hates medical exams. He’d frozen up right before walking into the med bay. He bit himself to stay grounded because…

Because he’s _scared_.

He’d attacked Keith when Keith had scared him. Pidge was about to start work on his arm when Shiro flipped out. Biting his own arm was like Hunk chewing at his nails. From last night, Hunk can recall that Shiro has a lot of bite marks on his arm.

The prisons must have been terrifying. And Hunk doesn’t even know if Shiro knows where he is. He’s acting so weird, but maybe… maybe he’s acting weird because he’s scared and doesn’t know how to not be scared?

If there’s anyone on the ship who knows about being scared, it’s Hunk.

The cookies are going to take a little while longer to bake. Perfect. That’ll give Hunk enough time to grab his supplies.

 

* * *

 

Pidge and Keith look up when Hunk enters the room. Shiro’s lying prone on the table, staring straight up with his left arm locked to his side, knuckles white from how hard he’s clenching his fist. His bicep has been heavily wrapped, and Coran is getting to work trying to dismantle the prosthetic and remove it from Shiro’s body. Keith is standing protectively by Shiro’s head, while Pidge is perched at his side, likely to keep him from trying to hurt himself again should he get the opportunity. They look surprised to see him.

“Sorry for the wait,” Hunk says, “I’m ready to help out now.”

“It’s okay,” Pidge says, and gestures to Coran, “we’ve got it taken care of.”

“Seriously,” Keith says, in the new tone he’s been trying when he attempts to leader them in Shiro’s absence, “you don’t have to do this.”

“No,” Hunk says, “I do. And I want all of you gone.”

Keith and Pidge frown at that. Keith shifts his stance as if he’s ready to fight should Hunk try and bodily remove him.

Coran sniffs the air loudly, “My goodness, what’s that smell?”

“Cookies,” Hunk declares proudly, “there’s a batch for everyone in the kitchen.”

“What about those?” Pidge asks, eyeing the well-stocked plate in Hunk’s hand.

“These are for me and Shiro. Now everyone out so I can do my job,” Hunk orders.

Pidge and Coran exchange a glance and Hunk knows exactly what they’re thinking. He can’t be alone with Shiro, because Shiro’s dangerous.

“Keith you’re gonna stay right?” Hunk adds, “whether I want you to or not?”

“Just to keep Shiro company,” Keith protests, “I won’t get in your way.”

“Then we’ll be fine,” Hunk says, and nods Pidge and Coran to the door, “now you two: shoo.”

“Are you sure there, Number 2?” Coran checks in.

Hunk nods determinedly over the blankets and cookies piled in his arms, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Shiro doesn’t move the whole time, but he’s been watching Hunk ever since Hunk mentioned the cookies. Hunk sets his collection of things on a side bench as Pidge and Coran leave.

“How are you doing, Shiro?” he asks.

“He’s been pretty good since we patched him up,” Keith answers when Shiro doesn’t.

“No offense, but I wanna hear from Shiro,” Hunk says.

Keith frowns, but doesn’t argue.

“Shiro?” Hunk asks again, “how are you?”

Shiro’s eyes followed him around the room, though he doesn’t lift his head. His mouth is in a straight line, turned down slightly in the corners and mangled into a weird curve where there’s a cut down to his chin. His hair has dried while he was laying down, and curls of it stick to his face, and, Hunk notices, there’s a few mats where it’s probably dried blood clumping it together.

“I don’t know about you, but exam rooms creep me out,” Hunk starts, “nothing bad has ever happened to me in one, but I still get scared all the same.”

Both Keith and Shiro furrow their brows, confused about Hunk’s rambling. It’s kind of funny to see them so synced up even when they barely know each other anymore.

“Would you like a cookie?” Hunk offers, “just one, right now, to nibble on. Eating tends to make me feel better.”

Hunk holds out the plate for Shiro, who looks at it like it’s a threat. Hunk thinks he might actually get turned down for once, and then, slowly, Shiro lifts his arm for his side and reaches out. He hesitates a moment, staring at Hunk.

“Go on,” Hunk urges, “but just one. We’ll take cookie breaks as we go, so we have to leave some.”

Shiro snatches a cookie so fast he almost knocks the entire tray out of Hunk’s hands, and then shoves it into his mouth before he lays back down. But he only took one this time. Hunk supposes that’s progress.

“You should really slow down,” Hunk offers, “you might upset your stomach if you keep eating that fast.”

He brought a water bottle— or at least, the Altean equivalent— and hands that to Shiro as well.

“Do you need to use the bathroom at all? Or do you want to keep going? We do have to remove your arm, but I think I can get it off in an hour or two,” Hunk says, “and we can take a break whenever you need.”

Shiro finishes chewing his cookie and swallows while watching Hunk. He takes open-mouthed gulps of water and doesn’t seem to notice when it runs down his face.

He doesn’t answer, so Hunk claps his hands together, “Okay! We’ll get going then. Now, I brought you a blanket— do you want it? I find these rooms get pretty chilly.”

Hunk has a feeling that Shiro’s not going to answer him, but he stands to grab the blanket anyways. He always felt better when his mom or Nana would wrap him up in a blanket when he was scared. It makes everything feel less looming and huge when you’re warm and snuggled.

Keith is staring at him like he’s a little crazy. Which, okay, maybe Hunk is. Tucking in the scary amnesiac prisoner of war is not necessarily a normal thing to do.

Hunk made sure to get a heavier blanket, and one that didn’t feel too scratchy. It was a little tricky to make the proper selection, and he’d nearly burned all the cookies while he was choosing between textures. He hopes no one notices that he picked out all the nice ones for him and Shiro— mostly for Shiro— and left the worst for everyone else to scrape off. It’s for a good cause, after all.

Shiro actually turns his head to watch Hunk this time, and he’s very interested in the blanket.

“It’s not gonna hurt you,” Hunk says, talking what he feels is a little bit nonsense, but just in case Shiro’s focus is out of fear and not interest, “it’s really soft, and will keep you warm. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.”

Shiro doesn’t move, so Hunk continues and shakes out the blanket to lay it over Shiro. He hasn’t done this in a long time, and has to move around to tug the corners down to cover Shiro’s feet. Hunk notices Shiro wiggle his toes as soon as they’re covered.

“That’s good, right?” Hunk asks, “I tried to find—”

“Soft!” Shiro says, surprised, craning his neck enough to look down to where he’s running the fingers of his left hand across the blanket.

“Well, it’s not soft as much as it’s warm, there are softer blankets on the ship,” Hunk rambles. He feels a little flustered that Shiro spoke to him and it wasn’t a threat or something else really weird.

Shiro lies back down, but tugs the blanket up to his chin, accidentally exposing his feet again. Hunk’s seen this with his little cousins before, and bites his lip to keep from laughing. Keith is staring at him and Shiro like he doesn’t know what he’s seeing. Hunk tugs the blanket gently a few times before Shiro gives him some slack to pull it down to cover his feet again.

“Cozy?” Hunk asks, and slides into his chair. Shiro doesn’t answer, “I’m going to start removing your arm now, okay? I like to talk while I’m working, but you can ask me anything or say we need a break. I’m gonna set a timer for twenty minutes, and then we’ll have another cookie break. Sound good?”

Shiro’s eyes are just visible from where he’s tucked his face under the blanket. He’s watching Hunk but doesn’t say anything.

Hunk holds up a wrench. Shiro’s gaze flies to it and he narrows his eyes.

“Right now I’ve got to unhook the finer supports,” Hunk explains, “so it’s a lot of detail work. Pidge should have shut down all the nerve connections, but if you feel any pain please tell me so I can stop. Okay? We don’t want to hurt you.”

Shiro’s glare doesn’t soften.

“You know why we’re taking it off, right?” Hunk asks, “it’s not— it’s not because you attacked us,” it kind of is, but that’s not the main reason, “it’s because we think the Galra could hurt you with it. In fact, Pidge and I are going to be working on building you a new arm. One that won’t hurt you. That’s why we have to do this so soon: to help you.”

Shiro doesn’t look any happier, but he lets out a long sigh. It sounds a little defeated, but Hunk takes it as acceptance. The other Shiros never liked their arms worked on. Maybe that was because they were afraid of people discovering that they weren’t actually human, or maybe that was actually Shiro not liking doctors or people poking around on the obvious signs of his trauma.

“I’m gonna start working now,” Hunk says, “remember what I said— you can ask me anything or ask for a break anytime. But we’ll break in a bit and have another cookie. Got it?”

He barely moves, but Hunk thinks Shiro nods.

“I get scared all the time,” Hunk says as he starts working. Looks like Coran was already getting into the mess of wiring and bolts. Hunk’s going to have to leave as much of an interface as he can for him and Pidge to work with, even though it would just be easier to cut everything off since they don’t plan on re-attaching the Galra arm.

“And so I chew my nails, or I eat, or I throw up. Some of those aren’t good things, but, like, that’s why you bit yourself, right?” Hunk rambles, “you were scared. I get it. But we’ll have to figure out other things for you to do instead of hurt yourself. It really scared _us_ that you did that— I mean, me especially. I went and stress-baked, but I guess that worked out for us in the end.”

He talks and tries to remember to glance up as he starts taking Shiro’s arm apart. Shiro watches every movement he makes. Across Shiro, and leaning back against the wall, Hunk spies a few times when Keith’s eyebrows hit his hairline in shock at Hunk’s words. Hunk’s not sure if Shiro’s as big a scaredy-cat as he is, that seems really unlikely, but it feels like the obvious reasoning behind all his actions today have been out of fear. Maybe Shiro reacts to being scared by getting aggressive. Hunk’s heard that being scared can do weird things to people.

And then the timer goes off, so Hunk sits back. Shiro’s eyes are wide with surprise, and he’s watching suspiciously.

“Ready for a break?” Hunk asks.

Shiro doesn’t reply. Hunk reaches for the cookie plate.

“Keith?” Hunk offers, “you want one too?”

Keith approaches slowly, and Shiro turns his head to watch him approach.

“They’re good cookies,” Keith says, and slowly reaches over Shiro to take one. It’s a big sign of bravery, considering Shiro tried to kill him for doing nearly the same thing just yesterday.

Hunk takes one himself and gestures the plate at Shiro, “You too?”

Shiro glances between Hunk and Keith eating their cookies with regular, small bites. He reaches his hand out from beneath the blanket and slowly takes a cookie. Hunk tries to not make a big deal of it when Shiro, staring at Hunk like he’s daring Hunk to try to stop him, manages to slow down enough to only eat half of his cookie in one bite.

“It’s a little easier to do this in small bits, hey?” Hunk says. Shiro glances between Keith and Hunk and takes another small bite of his cookie. He pulls his blanket back up over his chin and keeps nibbling from under the blanket.

Not a lot of words. Hunk’s getting more used to it.

“So I don’t know if you remember me, or how much you remember at all,” Hunk goes on, “but you and I have met before. Back at the Garrison. Do you remember that?”

“Shiro hasn’t lost all his memories,” Keith inputs, “that was just— the others.”

“I don’t know,” Hunk shrugs, “I think we don’t really know anything about him right now.”

Hunk glances back at Shiro who’s still watching them, “Woops, sorry, I don’t mean to talk over you. Feel free to jump in whenever.”

Shiro pulls the blanket over his head instead. Keith furrows his brows worriedly and looks at Hunk for an explanation.

“This whole thing is really freaking him out,” Hunk says, since that’s all he has to offer, “that’s why he’s acting so weird. Hey, Shiro, I’m gonna start working on your arm again, okay? We’ll break again soon for another cookie.”

They pass the time like that. Shiro eventually pulls the blanket down enough that only his eyes show, so he can watch what Hunk’s doing. Keith retreats to his spot at the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The constant breaks kind of ruin Hunk’s concentration, since he likes to just get into a project and work until he’s done, but it’s good for Shiro. After a few more breaks Shiro keeps the blanket over his head, and only pops out when he hears the timer go off.

Hunk talks until he starts to get focused, and then it’s mostly silent. Every so often Keith will ask him about his progress, or one of them will try to talk to Shiro. Shiro doesn’t respond.

And then, it’s done.

“Okay, Shiro, we’re almost there,” Hunk says, “I got all the little bits, not I just have to remove the final bolts and we should be able to take your arm off.”

The blankets don’t move.

“I’m going to go for it,” Hunk says, “you’re doing great, Shiro.”

It’s a lot easier than Hunk thought it would be, in the end. It goes so quickly that he removes the last bolt, and then the prosthetic falls away from Shiro’s arm as an independent object.

The blanket is pulled down as Shiro peeks out. Hunk checks to make sure everything is disconnected. Keith stands up from the wall and approaches them.

“Okay,” Hunk declares, “we’re done! You can sit up now, Shiro. Let’s have a cookie.”

Shiro raises the stump of his right arm and holds it up for inspection. The skin is pale from lack of light, and reddened from where the prosthetic was tight on the limb. It looks surgically healed and tended to, which might mean that Shiro’s arm was removed intentionally.

“Good job,” Keith says, “how are you holding up?”

Shiro sits up, and thoughtfully touches his right arm with his left hand. Hunk wonders if he’s ever seen his amputation before.

“He’s not much of a talker,” Hunk points out.

“I was actually talking to you,” Keith says.

“Oh,” Hunk’s a little startled, honestly. Even though Keith’s been the acting leader in Shiro’s… well, in the absence of _any_ Shiro, Hunk has never felt like he’s someone Keith would check in on.

“I’m glad it’s over,” Hunk says and notices the cookie plate, “oh, hey, there’s still some cookies left!”

The timer happens to go off right at the same time.

Shiro immediately holds out his left hand to Hunk. Hunk tries not to think of Pavlov and slobbering dogs.

“Here,” Hunk decides, “you can have them all, Shiro. You did really great today.”

Shiro narrows his eyes, and seems to hesitate a moment like Hunk might be tricking him.

“Is that— maybe we should—” Keith starts, but Shiro lunges forwards to steal the entire plate from Hunk’s hands. He leaps off the exam table and makes it across the room in a shockingly short time period, and then sits back to glare at them while he starts eating.

“Maybe you should save them?” Hunk offers, “for after dinner?”

“Too late,” Keith mutters.

“I’ve got to finish cleaning up,” Hunk says, “so I think we’re stuck with whatever Coran is making tonight. He might be better off just eating the cookies actually.”

“I’ll help,” Keith decides, “tell me what to do.”

It goes quickly with the two of them. They leave Shiro’s prosthetic right where it is, though Hunk secures several of the bolts and panels he loosened to make sure nothing gets lost if they have to move it around. Hunk puts away all of his tools while Keith folds up the blanket and sets a small robot to the floor to suck up the crumbs.

Shiro stays in his spot across from them, plate on the floor so he can nibble at his cookies using his left hand. Hunk figures that’s better than him inhaling them.

“Do you want to come to dinner with us?” Hunk asks Shiro, “or do you want to go lay down for a bit?”

“Lay down?” Shiro repeats.

“In your room,” Keith elaborates, “if you’re tired, or just, you know, need some time alone.”

“Room,” Shiro says with a definitive nod.

“We’ll walk you back,” Hunk says with a nod.

Shiro trails behind them. He stays hunched over, holding the plate protectively close. They get back to Shiro’s room without any hassle.

“You did really good today,” Hunk says to Shiro, “like, you were really scared but you went through with it. That was super brave of you. Good job, man.”

Shiro regards him warily, and then surprises Hunk when he says, “Thank you for the cookies.”

Shiro looks at the door pointedly, and Hunk realizes that because Shiro’s holding the plate with his only hand, he can’t actually hit the pad to open the door. Well, he could. Hunk’s done it with his hands full, but it’s a little undignified.

“Sorry, here,” Keith says, apparently reaching the same conclusion. Shiro cocks his head to the side as Keith presses his palm to the panel. Shiro’s bedroom door slides open, and Shiro walks in without another word. He turns to face them as soon as he crosses the threshold, and takes a few more steps backwards into his room. It’s weird and he does it every time Hunk’s seen him go into his room.

“If you want dinner, you know where to find us,” Hunk says before the door closes.

He and Keith start to meander towards the kitchen, for lack of anything better to do.

“You did really good too, you know,” Keith says, “Shiro… I’m sure Shiro thinks the same.”

“It was nothing,” Hunk shrugs.

“No,” Keith insists, “you figured it out. That he was scared. And you made him feel not scared. You’re really smart, you know? I didn’t know what to think of anything Shiro was doing. But you did.”

Hunk’s face heats up, “Well, uh, thanks.”

Keith glances over his shoulder, back to Shiro’s room.

“No, thank _you_ ,” Keith says.

 

* * *

 

The door closes and for the first time since this ordeal began, Champion is alone.

He holds the plate of cookies Hunk gifted to him, and waits to be sure that his keepers have left. It’s quiet. The silence of solitude settles in on him, and he can hear his heart pounding again.

They took his arm.

Champion looks down to his right, at the scar tissue and withered muscles around the end of his arm. The skin that has been burned and chafed into callous from the weight of the prosthetic. Useless. It’s absolutely useless.

Champion knows, objectively, that he has won fights in the Arena before receiving his prosthetic. But he also knows that without it, it is only a matter of time before he dies. The prosthetic was a gift, a rebirth in Haggar’s graces as he reshaped himself into something that could survive the battles. That would thrive in the Arenas.

And now it’s gone.

It’s an expensive piece. Many patrons had wished to give him a different arm, a _lesser_ arm, if only for the joy of seeing him work with something large to smash things with. Most patrons loved theatrics. They couldn’t afford to graft a better weapon to Champion’s body, so instead they would pay for lessons and trainings in fighting styles or with weapons that would make him even more deadly in battle. They got to see the spectacle of Champion, a creature who would not yield, take down monster after monster because Champion will not stop unless he is killed.

He can still fight like this, he knows that. But he knows that the caliber of fights he will be engaged in, at the level and fame he is at, that this is a death sentence.

They kept his prosthetic in one piece. It’s likely they will sell it, or… or they will give it to another fighter. Champion has seen nothing to indicate that this crew has another warrior on the ship, but he has not been everywhere yet. There is so much he has not seen.

Hunk said they wanted to give him a new arm. That was to placate him, while Hunk tried to tell Champion not to fear as they removed his only weapon. Had they wished to give him an upgrade they would have one completed by now. No, they don’t intend to make Champion useful again.

So he has been put out to pasture. He weathered his time in the Arena, and this is what must happen to gladiators who have passed their prime. Champion has never heard of a life beyond the Arena. He knows that sometimes the Druids take gladiators, and torture them in their experiments until they are made into other types of monsters. This is unlike anything he has ever known.

The prosthetic did contain a lot of quintessence. Perhaps they needed to remove it so it would not interfere with whatever the Druid Allura wishes to do to him. That would be the best outcome.

The other possibility is: they removed it because Champion is no longer useful. And they are going to kill him.

He doesn’t understand why they wouldn’t have killed him and then taken his arm, but nothing this crew does makes any sense. They continue to ask him his opinion on things, or try to be his friend. Maybe the Druid Allura insists on these polite manners. Haggar liked civility in her slaughterhouse too.

If they intend to kill Champion, they will have to earn it. He is bound by oath not to harm them, so he cannot fight or lure the crew into traps.

It means he must escape.

He sets the plate on the mattress, and is surprised when it doesn’t sink through the soft bed to the floor. His stomach lurches just thinking about laying on it. His legs are weary, and will fail him soon. Champion strides to the back of the room to activate the portal to let the starlight in. The stars are still there, different now. Champion doesn’t know if it’s because the ship is moving, or if it is casual negligence by the Druids in their own design. He decides he doesn’t care. He still tears up at the view.

Champion goes back to the bed and the cookies, and he kneels to reach his blanket underneath. He’s relieved to find it where he left it.

The terror of the day is still rattling in his bones. Champion is weary with anxiety. Every part of him is exhausted. He kept the crew from seeing his true fear, from breaking in front of them. If only they had bound his wrists, he would not have shown such weakness as to bite himself to keep from screaming. Then again, this crew could be foolish enough to bind his limbs and not gag him. Champion is glad he did not have to bite off his own tongue.

The blanket still smells unfamiliar when he presses his face to it. It’s soft, almost like a caress, and catches the unshed tears in his eyes. It does not smell like prison and makes him feel lightheaded with awe at that fact.

It’s difficult to crawl under without both arms. He can’t get any traction to pull himself with his right stump. He feels like he’s floundering, foolish and ungainly.

His shoulders span from floor to the roof of his small cave. It’s tight, and cramped, and dark. He drapes the blanket over his face and breathes heavily through it.

They’re going to kill him. He’s useless without his arm, and there is no need for useless things in the Empire. The Druid Allura will come for him, Champion knows this. She will take him to her workplace, and she will cut into him with knives and thoughts and words until she makes him into a new thing, a new sort of monster.

Champion barely survived one transformation. He does not think he has it in him to endure another.

His head is heavy, and his thoughts sluggish with fatigue. That is common, after returning from the Druids. Any gladiator who sat under Haggar’s attentions, and lived, returned a little emptier than they were before. Many killed themselves in the nights afterwards, rather than try to accept what had become of them.

Champion did not kill himself. And he will not kill himself now.

He cannot die like this. Cowering away in the pleasantries they have given him to distract him.

The spark ignites in his soul.

This is not where his story ends.

It starts as a groan, a bitter sob at the work that must be done, at the injustice because he wants to rest. He’s so tired, but to rest is to die. It builds in his chest, leaping into his throat as a snarl to fill the air around him. Champion is not a lame horse to be put down, he is wild and alive and he will never accept defeat.

He crawls out from his safe haven and kneels on the floor. He’s panting. He needs adrenaline, he needs urgency. Hunk and Keith said they would be eating right now. The whole crew dines together, which gives Champion some time. Champion bites into the gauze on his bicep, finding the wound to worry at it until the pain reinvigorates him. He is alive. He is awake. He’s ready for battle.

He doesn’t have his prosthetic to circumvent the touchpads at the doors, but none of the crew are drones as far as Champion can tell. Hopefully his organic limb will suffice.

He pushes himself to his feet. The plate will be cumbersome to carry, so he stuffs as many cookies as he can into the pockets of his pants. The rest are hidden away with the blanket. He may return, and he may need them.

Touching the inner pad should be what alerts the crew that Champion needs their assistance. He will explain that he requires the fresher, and then he will make an escape when they are not looking. They give him too much privacy, and he must take advantage of it. Hopefully they are all so hungry that only one of them comes to deal with him.

Champion presses his left hand to the doorpad. It glows as it registers his touch, like it does for the crew—

And the door slides open.

Champion is left speechless. How? Why? Why can he unlock the door to his own cell? What purpose does it serve to place a gladiator in a cell he can escape from? It doesn’t make sense!

It has to be a fluke. An error in the system.

But the crew can’t be that stupid. They can’t _possibly_ be that foolish. They didn’t put Champion in an unlocked cell, and then sleep right next to him.

Shame sweeps over Champion. They did this because they didn’t think he would discover this. They’ve been laughing at him. He didn’t kill them when he had the chance, and they’re mocking him for it.

Maybe it’s true. Champion has passed his prime. He’s no longer worthy of the Arena.

The door _whooshes_ shut and Champion is startled out of his thoughts. He presses his hand to the touchpad again. It opens.

Opening the door may alert the crew that he is onto them. He can’t get lost in thought now.

Then again, this could be a ploy. The Druids always love their games. Once when the prisons were too full, they starved everyone until they were forced to kill one another to survive. Anyone who refused to partake in the morbid feast was eaten by someone else. It only took a week to cut the number of prisoners in half. The Druids took the fattest prisoners away for their experiments.

Even if it is a ploy, he has to try. This crew of fools will not get the better of him.

Champion opens the door again and springs out into the hall. No traps activate, no alarms sound. His own heart is hammering in his ears. He draws on his mental map of the layout of the ship. Everyone will be eating.

He turns the other direction and runs away as fast as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still nano so I can't promise when I'll (foolishly) take more time to edit up the next chapter, but it will come!!
> 
> I was a huge nerd and did a drawing of [Champion and his blanket](http://demenior.tumblr.com/post/166560649059/champion-soft-blanket-from-my-fic-sunset-in).
> 
> And!!!! I know there is more art to come!!!! So keep your eyes peeled on my tumblr and on the next chapter. If anyone else out there ever gets inspired by this story to make anything, _please_ let me know so I can include it on the next chapter!!!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone for your support. I'll see you again next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow was this chapter a joy to write! And difficult too! I've never done so many rewrites in my life, but I think this final version has nailed the transition we needed to see.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's reading and supporting this story. Your feedback makes it worth writing!
> 
> Huge shoutout and all the love to Queenvalkyrie, Gitwrecked and Oldmythologies for being my amazing betas and letting me bounce ideas off of them. Without them this story wouldn't be half as wonderful as it's becoming!
> 
> **Note: I'm writing this story to be set in the space between seasons 3&4\. Shiro's 'vanishing' at the end of s2 was due to the android who thought he was Shiro using up all of his quintessence and being destroyed by the Black Lion. At some point after doing the Lion Swap, getting "Shiro" back, and starting the coalition, the "Shiro" that returned to the team revealed himself to be an android created and planted by the Galra to take down team Voltron. The team stopped him, but realized this meant the real Shiro was still out there, leading to their frantic searching and the beginning of this story.

Champion runs headfirst into the unknown. At first it’s a mad dash, heart hammering in his throat and fear spurring him on. But no alarms sound. He hears no calls for troops or for searches. The crew does not know he’s gone, and they are not looking for him. He has time, still.

He slows, ducking into a small alcove in the hall to listen. Over his own breathing, he hears nothing. No footsteps, no voices, nothing.

Champion takes stock of his surroundings. He’s in a hall, the same as any of the others on the ship that he has been shown. It feels like he might almost be back where he started, even if he knows that is not true. The ship is like a maze, designed to disorient. He will be careful. If he had his prosthetic he might even try to make a mark so he could tell if he’d been this way before, should he loop back on himself. He will have to be wary and keep conscious of his mental map of the ship.

Champion pulls a cookie from his pocket and nibbles at it while he thinks. He walks forwards, no longer running frantically. He’s at a junction to go left or right. He does not know where either path leads. Both halls are dim, not used or not expected to be in use. The lights appear to be barely functional. When Champion sniffs for it, he can tell there is slightly fresher air coming from the left. It must lead to a large, open area. Like a hangar.

Champion’s stomach lurches. A hangar. Where they would keep ships. A ship that he could steal, that he could run away on. He… he’s dreamed of escape so often that it’s become just that. It’s a recurring nightmare, the thought of leaving the life he’s built for himself, the power and status that he’s cultivated. He has a name, a title. He has respect and patrons. He’s carved himself a good life.

Until this crew stole that from him.

Now Champion’s world is in shambles. Nothing makes any sense anymore. All the rules have changed. He has to work his way up, but there is no power to be found here. He’s been stripped of all of his worth. He has to run. Leaving is the only option they have given him. And if he leaves… where does he go?

It occurs to him, suddenly, what Hunk spoke of. What all the crew has mentioned at one point or another. Earth. There is Earth, where he came from. Where there are more humans.

Champion’s head hurts. He remembers busy streets, crowded rooms and jostling voices. Remembers wonder and joy and cramped spaces. So many hands on him, so many bared teeth in greeting. Remembers his fame and fortune there. It was just like it is now. Is there anything for him to return to? He remembers so much, and yet so little. It’s like broad paintings in his mind, and lacking any detail. Perhaps, if the crew truly are humans too… maybe they will show him mercy. Champion could return to them. He could try to survive under their laws. That is much easier than escaping.

 _Prince with a thousand enemies_ , a fragmented memory tells him. It’s the truth.

He touches the end of his right arm. He must remember that he has been deemed worthless. They will kill him. Or worse, hand him to the Druids. His escape is not through desire, but by necessity.

Champion musters his courage, finishes his cookie, and walks towards the hangar.

 

* * *

 

There are no lights on when he reaches the door. The air is stale, and he suspects this is an entrance not often used. It means it may be locked, or it may be completely unguarded. He approaches carefully.

It’s dark inside as well, meaning that no one is in the hangar. Strange for an active ship to have a hangar that loses all light. It’s not as if a ship needs to sleep.

Champion approaches the door, and holds out his hand to the doorpad. The one to his room did not have an alarm, why should this one? It does not light up under his touch.

So this is a dead end.

Champion smacks it in frustration. He will have to find another way around.

The pad flickers, attempting to activate. Champion presses his hand to it again.

The doors begin to slide open, and the light in the doorpad dies again. It’s open just enough to feel the breath of cool air spilling out. Champion wedges his hand into the small space between and puts his weight into it. He forces the doors further apart. They creak and groan in protest, though they cannot resist his will. He makes enough space for his body to squeeze through. He has to exhale to fit, and even then his ribs are knocked in passage.

The room is cold. That’s how Champion knows it is large. It’s so dark that it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. He freezes, back to the doors he entered through, just in case there is a threat. The lights come on, slowly. They _hum_ to life and illuminate the space.

It’s a smaller hangar than he expected. There’s only a singular ship. And it is… oddly shaped. It doesn’t look aerodynamic at all. It’s massive, enough that it makes Champion feel humbled in its presence.

It… looks like a sitting creature. Mostly black, with red extensions off its back. Champion’s never seen a ship so odd or poorly designed. Is this what the rich do for fun? In any case, it would be a useless ship for him to steal. A ship unique as this would be tracked anywhere he went, not to mention that if it’s a luxury cruiser then it’s probably slow and lacks any weaponry. This hangar must lead to another one. He’ll find a better ship.

Champion circles the edge of the room. The ship may have motion sensors or anti-theft alarms that will sound if he doesn’t enter a passcode or meet a pre-set biosignature. He has no intention of alerting the crew to his whereabouts yet.

He spots a workbench and rushes to it. There are a collection of tools left on the surface. Celebration colors Champion’s smile. He picks up a wrench. It’s heavy and solid in his hand. An excellent weapon against soft human tissue, should they come after him. He cradles it to his body as he makes his way through the hangar.

There’s a door in the direction that the bow of the ship is facing. As Champion comes around it, he recognizes that the ship has a face. The eyes seem to be watching him, even though it’s simply staring straight ahead. It’s animalistic, and it takes his mind a moment to place it. Feline. A lion.

The crew told him a wild lie about lion ships and his part in it all. They said he was the Black Paladin. Whatever that means.

Champion takes in the paint job on this ship. It would appear that this is the Black Lion. Champion should take it just to spite them. A useless fighter takes a useless ship from a useless crew who don’t even set alarms for his escape. Poetic justice.

But the ship is too foreign to Champion. It may be impossible for him to pilot it. He takes a final glance at it, and turns away.

He stops not two steps later. Curiously he turns his head to glance over his shoulder. The strange ship is still watching him. Champion feels… he feels an impulse. He wants to approach it. His curiosity is piqued.

The ship is a behemoth in size, and something about it feels like safety. Like protection. Were he to fly this ship, they would make for an undefeatable team. Enemies would fall before them, space would be theirs to explore and discover.

He finds the thought comforting, warm even. It spreads from his chest to his limbs like a happy thought.

This is the ship he should take. It’s his. They’re meant to be together.

Champion feels like he’s been reunited. He has the wrench tucked under his right arm so he can reach up to touch the huge metal paw of the lion ship. He feels like it’s going to be warm, like it’s going to feel like embracing an old friend.

The screech of gears turning and _hiss_ of pistons firing makes Champion freeze. He steps back. The lions head has moved. It’s looking down— straight at him.

Champion’s stomach drops. This isn’t any ship. A normal ship could not move on its own. It must be one of Haggar’s experiments.

He wants to run but his legs are tight with fear. He can’t move, held captive in the gaze of the lions eyes as they light up, blinding him.

The urgency of coming together grows. It morphs, changes in its alluring warmth. It becomes a sensation of ownership, of being held tightly like a dog with a bone, washes over Champion. It’s a claim, it’s ownership. The lion seeks to overpower him, to make him submit to its desires.

It was a trap. Like a fly to honey he’d been sucked in. It’s in his head. It’s in his head!

“No,” Champion whimpers.

Haggar always wanted the same. She could break Champions legs to make him kneel, she could make him promise to serve her, but at his heart he has always been untamable. A Druid couldn’t have him, and their experimental monster won’t have him either.

The lion stands up. It’s a catastrophe of sound, of incredible might pressing down on Champion’s mind. It’s in his head, just like the Druids. It’s trying to carve a spot for it to live, for Champion to accept its forceful entry.

“No!” Champion screams. He’s shrieking. His voice is raw. He claws at his skull, clinging and ripping at hair. He must run. He has to get away. He’s held captive in the lion’s gaze, transfixed by its magic.

The long tail flicks back and forth as it’s hindquarters shift weight side-to-side. It will alert the crew. The will come for him. They will take him to the medical room and they will cut him open and _change_ him. Or he will die.

“I won’t be like you,” Champion spits.

The lion cocks its head to the side. It has a leg raised, to step forwards. Instead it sets it down, and the insurmountable force pinning Champion in place, forcing itself into his mind, finally releases him. He falls to the ground, gasping for breath. He is still him. He is still here.

The lion moves again, and this time it opens its jaws and leans down to devour him.

Champion doesn’t give it the chance. He’s running for the door before he can even get back on his feet. He trips over himself, hits the floor on his left shoulder. The lion is turning. It’s slow, it’s lumbering in this space but if it catches him! He can’t let it catch him.

 Champion bolts for the unused back door he entered from, and hits it full-tilt with his shoulder, again, as he dives for the small gap in the door. His vision whites out with pain as he scrambles. The hangar shakes as the lions paws hit the floor. Champion is illuminated in its gaze as it turns its face to him.

“No! Go away!” Champion shouts.

He breaks through the door, hitting his ribs and his knees as he lunges. He races down the hall, into the dark, away from the light spilling in from the hangar. It can’t have him. It can’t follow him.

The hall lights up from behind— it’s like the entire wing is filled with light. Champion stops to wonder, and looks behind him. Peeking through the small space between the doors that Champion left open, is one of the lions great glowing eyes. It’s watching him.

It lets out a long sigh, and a gust of wind races down the hall and blows Champion’s hair out of his face.

The lion tried to kill him, tried to _claim_ him, and failed. Champion raises his left hand, middle finger extended, and lets out a triumphant yell to spite it.

Champion waits until he rounds a corner before he wipes the frightened tears off of his face.

 

* * *

 

He wanders, and wanders, and wanders some more. His mental map is completely thrown off. He’s not even sure if he’s walking in circles. This ship is impossibly large. It’s like a city. A mobile metropolis.

It’s so dark that he can barely see. One light in three halls will be working, just enough to cast light for Champion to distinguish between door and wall. It’s just enough to keep the dark at bay. He reminds himself again and again that this is not Haggar’s darkness. Champion is the most savage thing in these shadows.

He keeps his grip on the wrench tight as he rounds every corner.

His arm hurts. Champion hadn’t realized it at the time, but he tore open his wound escaping from the lions den. It bled through the bandages a little while ago. He needs to find something new to wrap it with.

All of these doors are like the door to the lions hangar. The touchpads don’t light up, and don’t respond to his touch. Champion doesn’t know what’s behind any of these doors, but he knows that the crew of this ship does not come down here. It makes him wonder why a ship so large has such a skeleton crew.

He manages to get one working— hitting it a few times results in the smallest glow of energy. Champion can pry the doors enough to peek inside. It’s a room. Another living quarters, actually. He can barely make out the dark shape of a bed, a small table. These are… comfortable quarters. For long-term space travel. Perhaps this ship truly was meant to be a city.

Champion forces the doors further open. His ribs ache in protest as he wiggles inside. It smells stale. Nothing living has been in here for a very long time.

Champion immediately heads for the cupboards. They’re all empty. Meant to be filled with whatever possessions the inhabitant would bring. No medicine to be found, no gauze or bandages. He will have to be creative.

The bed is larger than the one Champion was afforded in his cell, both here and in the other prisons. He has a tempting thought to lay down on it, but dashes that foolish impulse quickly.

He finds rage a moment later, when he discovers that the bed has nothing on it. It’s a mattress, that’s all. No sheet, no blanket, no pillow. Nothing that he can use to tourniquet his wound.

Champion crawls out of the room with a shout of frustration. It echoes down the empty halls. Why would they have a city of bedrooms and no bedding?

It must be supplied elsewhere, if this was all set up in the anticipation of passengers. Champion scours the hall. The lights don’t come on, they’re like the touchpads and seem to be broken or have some connectivity failure, but his eyes are more accustomed to darkness anyways. Up ahead he can spy an oddly marked door.

The language is unfamiliar to him, but Champion has been mostly illiterate since coming to the prisons so that does not bother him. The touchpad to this door is dead as well. Champion has to hit it several times before he gets a small spark, and hears the door _whirr_ as it begins to open. His arm hurts, having to use it to force the door open even when it’s bleeding badly now.

It’s a supply closet. He was right! Linens line the walls, all carefully vacuum sealed for easy storage. Champion doesn’t even glance at the labels. He grabs the first one and opens the packaging with his teeth. The cloth is pressed paper-thin from a long time sealed, but he shakes it out enough to find the corner of one layer, and bites down as he rips it. He tears a strip from it and sits down right there to tie up his arm.

It takes several tries. His stump is only good for holding an end in place, and even then he drops the knot a few times. Even using his teeth is difficult. Eventually he ties a loop in the fabric before putting it on his arm, and then slides it up to his bicep before he pins it down and tightens the knot. That seems to do the trick.

Champion breathes now that he’s found supplies. This is his first victory since deciding to run. And with that breath, he realizes that he’s tired. His legs have felt weak since the encounter with the lion, and he’s refused to admit it until he had some space between it and him.

He rubs the extra fabric between his fingers. It’s soft too— different from the blanket he left in his cell, and different from the blanket Hunk used on him in the procedure. It’s more smooth, like metal. Champion decides he likes the sensation.

He stands up and goes into the closet to get more packages, and rips them all open. He finds sheets in one section— they’re thin, but the sensation is nice. Similar to what Champion used on his arm. Pillowcases, which are what he used for his bandage. The pillows themselves— which inflate so quickly from being pressed flat that they startle Champion and he almost falls over with a shout. And then he finds the blankets.

He recognizes it immediately because it feels exactly like what Hunk used. Champion presses it to his face and nuzzles into it. He’s getting too attached to these sensations, like a drug, but he can’t stop.

The crew doesn’t come down this way, that much is certain. He still has food. He thinks he can find water too. A rest will give him time to get his bearings, to make a proper plan. Instead of leaving the ship, maybe he could hide away until the ship docks on a planet. Or maybe the crew will just forget about him. They will assume the mechanical monster ate him.

It’s a foolish thought, but the blanket has filled Champion’s mind with avarice and he wants to justify his rest. His arm hurts, he’s in no condition to fight. That’s what he tells himself.

He does not remind himself that he has fought under worse circumstances.

There’s another shelf he missed— foolish, not to take in all of his surroundings. He finds small flashlights. The design is a little different, but they’re close enough to what the guards used when they’d search the cells that Champion can turn it on. The first three don’t work, the fourth starts, and then dies. He finally gets the fifth to light, and then tests several more before adding them to his arsenal.

Champion gathers all of pillows and blanket packages he can hold in his arms, even forces some into the waistband of his pants, and starts off down the hall. He wants to put some distance between him and the mess he’s leaving, just in case there are any searchers.

He takes shelter in another room. It’s dark, the only small amount of ambient light spills in from where Champion pried the door ajar enough to enter. He tried to push it shut but it’s not as easy as opening the door, and eventually he gives up.

The bed is too soft. Champion tries to sit on it, and regrets it immediately. He feels like he’s falling as he sinks into it, and panic leaps into his throat. He throws himself back to the ground, and checks the space under the bed. This bed is not locked to the wall like the one in his cell was, and it’s much lower to the ground. It’s harder to get under, and Champion crawls in halfway before he decides he doesn’t like having all sides open. He pushes himself back out.

His arm hurts worse now. He’s sure it’s bleeding still. He may have even ripped some stitches. That will be a problem for later. The adrenaline high of the last few hours is leaving him, and Champion was already exhausted from the removal of his arm earlier today. Sleep is all he can think of.

He searches the room for anything. Moving the table does him no good for shelter, but it and the two chairs that go with it make for a good barricade at the door. That makes him feel a little safer. The closets and cupboards are small and don’t close with him inside of them.

The bedroom will not suffice for him to sleep in. Perhaps if he drags the mattress off the bed. He could prop it up to make a small den.

He finds the other doorpad by accident. He’s gesturing in the dark for any further furniture when he remembers the flashlights he brought with him. He berates himself as he lights one, and it flickers to life. He scans the walls and realizes there’s another set of doors. Curiously Champion bats at the doorpad, and gets no response. In frustration he slaps it harder, until his arm hurts so much he grits his teeth to hold back the pained whimpers.

Finally, the pad lights up with a small glow. Champion presses his hand to it, and feels a small gush of air as the door opens. The doorpad dies when it’s open just enough for him to fit through. He doesn’t have to push it. Small mercies.

It’s even darker inside. Champion lifts his flashlight and peers in. A fresher! And better yet, it has a pod for cleaning. And faucets. They might even work.

Champion tosses his packets of blankets and pillows onto the floor and checks the sinks. The pipes creak and groan, and for a moment he fears they might burst, and then water begins to flow. It’s stale, and cold, but it’s filtered and it tastes wonderful to him. He drinks all that he can, and then goes to the pod. It’s a luxury model: round in shape, and slightly oblong in length, meant for either sitting or standing in. It has a high rim to step into, but otherwise it’s enclosed by fabric connected to a bar near the ceiling. Champion pulls the cover back enough that he can watch the door, and then he sits down to open the linen packets. The blankets and pillows quickly cover him, soft and light. He nestles a pillow under his hip, his ribs, and even attempts one under his head. It keeps him from craning his neck in the odd position he’s lying in. He covers himself in blankets until he feels heavy, almost like he’s being pinned. But it’s good. He likes this.

He keeps his arm raised, set on another pillow for the elevation, and nuzzles into the nest he’s made.

Champion will have to think better on this when he is rested and clearer of mind. But for now he has food, shelter and water. A treacherous part of him wants to stay here, to make a small life for himself scavenging and outwitting the crew until the end.

It’s a nice fantasy, and leaves him smiling as he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

"So what... he's just... really scared?" Pidge asks as she and Hunk head to their rooms. Hunk has a plate of food for Shiro, to see if he's hungry now.

"Yeah," Hunk shrugs, "I don't know how I realized it, but it just hit me while I was baking. He's like me, kind of, I guess. Scared. Of like, a lot. Maybe not a lot, I don’t know. Since when was Shiro scared of anything?"

Pidge frowns, looking down as she thinks. Shiro being scared. That's... that's never been an emotion she would use to describe him. It just has never felt like part of his character— of the character of the androids who _thought_ they were Shiro. Shiro's brave. He's courageous and he acts instead of freezing up. He saved Matt's life and endured the arena instead of saving himself.

"Well, I guess that means we have to change the way we do stuff. But I don't think he could be scared of me," Pidge says, and gestures to herself, "I'm... not scary."

"But you did the stuff with his arm," Hunk points out, "that's why he attacked you. He was going for the laptop, because he was freaked by the whole idea of losing his arm."

"Yeah," Pidge frowns, and rubs her chin. It's all healed but her lip is still really tender, "I guess it makes sense."

"I just can't figure out what was going on with Allura," Hunk says.

"She didn't even join us for dinner," Pidge notes, "I think she's really shaken."

"I'll go take her dinner and some cookies too," Hunk says, "so long as you guys didn't eat all of them."

Pidge wrinkles her nose in disgust, "Ew, no. Sorry but they were, like, all burned. I managed to eat a few, but I like my cookies more chewy."

"Fair," Hunk shrugs, "they aren't my best work."

They arrive at Shiro's room and Pidge knocks politely.

"Hey, Shiro, we brought you some food if you're hungry," she calls.

The lights are off, but Keith said that Shiro didn't know how to work them. He might still be awake and just... sitting in the dark. While weird, it wouldn't be out of the realm of normal for Shiro. This Shiro.

"Shiro?" Pidge knocks again, "it's me and Hunk. we just wanted to check up on you. Are you okay?"

Pidge presses her face to the door and listens hard. There's.... no sound from inside. She's not sure if Shiro's a snorer when he's sleeping, or what she'd even hear. But it just, it sounds empty inside. Her stomach twists.

Hunk tries to stop her when Pidge reaches for the doorpad, but she hits it before he can interfere. The door _whooshes_ open and they stare into Shiro's dark room. The lights come on and make it evident that Shiro isn't here.

The bedding is missing from his bed. The window is open, showing a nice view outside, but otherwise there's nothing. It's like no one actually lives here.

For a brief moment, Pidge actually wonders if Shiro is here at all. Did she dream that they rescued him?

Then she spies the corner of a blanket under the bed. She jumps forwards and drops to all fours.

"Shiro?"

It's a super weird space for him to be. It's so small that even Pidge would feel nervous in it.

The blanket from his bed is shoved underneath, and there's a plate with a few cookies left on it. Pidge recalls all the times she hid her projects under her bed so Matt or Dad wouldn't find them and 'fix' them. Under the bed is where you hide stuff you don't want people to see. But... this is all normal stuff. Why is Shiro hiding this?

Hunk is down beside her, cheek pressed to the floor to peer under the bed.

"Was he... do you think he was sleeping under here?"

"That would be weird," Pidge remarks.

"Everything about Shiro is weird right now," Hunk reminds her, "we gotta think about him like a scared soldier."

"A scared soldier," Pidge repeats. She doesn't even know what that's like. All she knows are movies, but she’s smart enough to know not to trust them to be accurate.

They both sit up on their knees.

"He's not here," Pidge realizes, "is he in the bathroom?"

"Let's check," Hunk decides, and pauses a moment to hand the plate of food to Pidge.

"Why do I have to carry it?" she demands.

"Well, you know, Shiro's a guy. In the bathroom. I am also a guy," Hunk babbles.

"They're unisex bathrooms," Pidge points out.

"Shiro's comfortable with me," Hunk defends himself. Pidge can't deny that. Keith was so impressed with Hunk he hadn’t been able to stop talking about how smart their engineer was.

Pidge holds the plate in two hands while she and Hunk hustle down to the bathroom. Hunk knocks timidly on the door.

"Shiro?" Pidge calls loudly. Hunk jumps with a yell.

"You scared me!" he whines.

"Go check," Pidge insists.

Hunk pushes the door open and steps inside, "Hey, Shiro? Are you in here?"

His voice echoes in the empty space. Pidge's stomach starts to twist in knots as Hunk keeps walking in. She can hear him calling, but she knows the answer. Shiro isn't in the bathroom either.

They'd given him a full tour, maybe he was just somewhere else. He wasn't a prisoner, so he didn't have to stay in his room. But up until now he never left unless one of them was with him. So why now? What happened?

 

* * *

 

Pidge and Hunk start checking the other areas they showed Shiro. Keith and Lance find them in the living room.

"What's up?" Lance asks. He's still a little sleepy from the painkillers Coran gave him, but otherwise he's fine. He keeps complaining that he's actually dying and should have been able to have dinner in bed, but no one is taking him seriously.

"We can't find Shiro," Hunk says worriedly.

Keith immediately stands up straighter, "What do you mean?"

"He's not in his room," Pidge says.

"Did you check the bathroom?" Lance asks, "maybe he just wanted a little, you know, privacy?"

"Of course we already checked," Pidge rolls her eyes, "and he's not there!"

"Split up," Keith orders immediately, "Hunk, you and Pidge keep checking around here. Lance and I will hit the hangars."

"The hangars?" Lance echoes, "why would he— oh."

It makes sense, Pidge supposes. If Shiro is afraid of them, and they took his arm away, maybe he's so scared that he wants to run away.

"I'll call Coran and tell him not to let anything leave," Lance says. He and Keith dash off together.

"I don't think Shiro is anywhere around here," Pidge says, "if he was scared of us, he'd go the other way."

"But the other way from our rooms leads into the castle. It’s all broken down. There's nothing there," Hunk says.

"Shiro doesn't know that," Pidge points out, "like you said, he's just reacting to stuff. He's scared."

Hunk ponders a moment, then nods in agreement, "Yeah. But let's finish checking here first, just to make sure."

Pidge figures that's a good idea. The rest of the castle is huge and mostly unexplored. it's almost like a maze. She hopes that Shiro's actually just snuck into the kitchen and is eating like a maniac, but in her gut she thinks she knows where he really is.

Relatively, of course.

 

* * *

 

Keith and Lance find no sign of Shiro in the hangars. They’re heading off to check the Lion hangars too, just in case. Pidge hadn't even thought about the Lions yet, but it makes sense. The other Shiros had been able to pilot the Black Lion. It makes sense that the real Shiro should be a Black Paladin too. Maybe she had called to the real Shiro.

Pidge wonders for a moment, completely delusional, if the Black Lion could fix Shiro. They're supposed to be great magical creatures. They can do all sorts of impossible things! Maybe... maybe they should introduce Shiro to her after this. Shiro might stop being so scared if he finds out how cool he actually is.

Hunk and Pidge don't find him in the main areas they showed Shiro. By the time the team gathers together again, Allura and Coran join them. Allura still looks upset from earlier, and her ears are droopy. Pidge has rarely seen her this sad before.

There’s good news from Keith and Lance. They’d gone to the Black Lion’s hangar, and found that she’d moved. She was crouched down, trying to peer through a half-open door at the back of the room that none of them had ever used.

Keith excitedly reported that he wasn’t connected to the Black Lion anymore. She’d dismissed him when he tried to ask what had happened, informing him quite firmly that he was no longer her Paladin. While rude and overall unhelpful in the way only a Lion could be, it was the first clue they’d been able to find in regards to Shiro’s whereabouts.

“It means she saw Shiro,” Keith says, “and he went through that back door.”

"We'll have to search the inner Castle," Allura says with a sigh, "that area hasn’t been restored yet. We won’t have lights, or access to any rooms, but it means that Shiro won’t have that either. He’ll be running in the dark, and probably has gotten lost. We have to find him as soon as possible."

"Do we really need to hunt him down?" Hunk asks, "maybe he's just off for a walk?"

Even Hunk doesn't sound convinced by his own argument. Pidge sees the logic in it all the same.

"I think we can all agree that Shiro isn't quite in his right mind," Coran says, "knowing where he is, so we can help him, is in his best interest."

"He could hurt himself," Pidge points out, "like what he did to his arm. Right now I think we have no choice but to go after him."

Hunk nods in agreement.

"But we just need to know where he is," Lance points out, "we split up, everyone stays in contact with each other, and when we find Shiro we find out what he's up to. Maybe he just needed some alone time, you know?"

"He was alone in his room,” Keith says, "he shouldn't have run away."

"Yeah he was alone… with all of us barging in every ten minutes to check on him," Lance reminds Keith.

"It's a good strategy, we'll cover more area that way," Allura agrees, "I think it will be best for us to wear our Paladin armor, as it will come equipped with everything we need. Coran, could you coordinate us from the bridge? If you use a map of the ship, you can direct us to be sure no one gets lost and we cover all the area we need."

"Of course, Princess," Coran salutes.

"Alright," Allura nods decisively, "Paladins, let's go."

 

* * *

 

It's really dark in this wing of the Castle. If it weren’t for the bright flashlight she has on her wrist, Pidge would be paralyzed with fear. She hates the dark. She’s always hated the dark.

It smells funny too, like the air is a little stale. Compared to how bright and clean everything else is, this feels like Pidge has walked into a whole new world.

Pidge was one of the first to split off. They walked until they came to a branch in the halls, and Pidge went left while the group went right to go further into the maze. The Castle is stupidly huge. It was supposed to be a working, thriving city. Now there’s only seven of them, and the mice, who live on board. And the Lions, but Pidge hasn’t decided if they count as living things or not.

She checks every room, but most of the touchpads don't even work, or are covered in a layer of dust. No signs that Shiro was here.

It's frustrating, until she catches sight of a door set slightly ajar.

"Shiro?" Pidge knocks before she opens it.

Oh, woops. It's a closet. Of some sort. Mostly linens, Pidge guesses. They're all vacuum sealed and wrapped tight. There must be... well, there's a whole lot of boxed up things.

But on the floor is an unwrapped package. It's been opened, and based on how neat and tidy the Alteans like to keep everything, it was probably opened recently.

"Bingo," Pidge whispers.

It looks like several of the packages were removed too. Pidge takes one off the shelf and tries to read the label on it, but the Altean makes her eyes go a little buggy and cross. There's a pattern to it that makes her think it's probably a blanket.

A blanket, huh? Hunk and Keith both said Shiro was a lot nicer, and better, after Hunk gave him a blanket. He was really skinny. Maybe he gets cold?

Pidge tucks the blanket package under her arm and keeps walking down the hall.

She should probably contact the others, but she doesn't want everyone barging in yelling and scaring Shiro off again. She and Shiro... well, the other Shiros had always gotten along well with her. Pidge is sure the real Shiro is just the same.

Even after he'd almost broken her nose and her laptop today. Pidge halts a moment to think. Shiro attacked her today. He was trying to hurt her, maybe worse. And Pidge had frozen up. She’s supposed to be a Paladin of Voltron and she’d been scared so badly she did nothing. The others had to help her.

Hunk was scared too, and he’d turned that into helping Shiro. What had Pidge done?

No, she has to do this. Shiro’s her friend. Shiro saved Matt’s life. Pidge can be brave for Shiro.

She keeps her flashlight on the walls ahead, looking at the touchpads on the doors for any sign that the dust has been brushed off. Anything to indicate that Shiro might have come down this way. It’s slow going in the dark.

In the end, what she finds is a door pried ajar. It's almost undetectable, except that her flashlight catches the gap and for a moment she can see into the room.

It's a really tight fit. Pidge peers closer and thinks she can see a smear of blood on the door, where Shiro would have gripped it to push it open. Why is he bleeding? Pidge thinks back to Shiro revealing that he’d been biting into his arm to keep from screaming and feels nauseous.

Mind on the mission. She’s here to help Shiro.

It's smart, to go into a room with an inactive touchpad. She was looking for an active one.

There’s a table and chairs set up at the door. A block to keep anyone from getting in. Shiro’s in there, she knows it.

Pidge goes to signal the others, as is protocol. But she stops.

Shiro clearly doesn’t want to be found. He ran away from his room, from all of them, to hide here. Pidge thinks on what Hunk said. Shiro is scared.

He’s hiding.

Like all the times Pidge hid in her closet when thunder would boom overhead. She used to sit with a flashlight on because she was _also_ scared of the dark, and with her blanket over her head and try to keep from waking anyone else up with her crying. Especially when she got old enough that it was embarrassing to be running to Mom and Dad, or to even be scared of the thunder or the dark at all.

When Matt found out that she was still sleeping in her closet, he started coming to her every time there was a thunderstorm. He’d sit guard for her, just outside, and he’d reach his hand in so she could hold it. Pidge was still scared, but it helped a lot that Matt was there.

Pidge glances at the smear of blood on the door. When did Shiro hurt himself? He’s going to need help.

Pidge closes her eyes and thinks. Shiro’s afraid. When Pidge was afraid she hated getting fawned over like it was a big deal. It made her cranky, and like everyone was mocking her.

She doesn’t want to call the others. Not yet. Shiro doesn’t trust them, that’s why he ran away. He’s only been out of prison for, like, what? Not even two days? And all they did was take his arm and scare him so badly he thought he had to defend himself.

Pidge wants to prove there’s nothing to be scared of.

“Shiro?” Pidge calls into the room, “hey, Shiro? I know you’re in here. It’s me, Pidge. Are you okay?”

There’s no response. Shiro’s been pretty non-verbal since they found him so that’s not exactly a surprise.

Pidge takes off her helmet. It’s too big to fit through the space Shiro made in the doorway. She sets it down on the floor to the side of the door.

“I’m coming in,” she announces, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s it, I promise.”

Pidge has to knock down Shiro’s barricade. The chairs topple over loudly, crashing in the silence. If Shiro hadn’t heard her before, she’s sure that he knows she’s here now. Pidge waits, in case he’s scared enough to attack her like earlier. The memory makes her hesitate again. Her lip still feels a little swollen, and her heart beats a little quicker. No one else is here to save her if Shiro tries to hurt her again. But he won’t. She won’t put him in the position to be scared.

Pidge climbs through, scaling over the table that’s still wedged in the door, and climbs down the other side. She keeps the flashlight built into her suit, in the wrist of her armor, on the whole time. It’s way too dark inside the room to see anything without it. She shines it around as she stands up on the other side of the barricade.

The room looks a lot like a hotel room, or maybe a really small apartment. It's less soldier quarters like the Paladin barracks, and more civilian. Lots of storage along the walls, a big bed with no bedding on it. The table and two chairs that were probably for dining or guests are still at the door where Shiro put them, and Pidge spies another bench in the corner. The cabinets don’t look big enough for someone like Shiro to fit in.

Remembering the blanket in his room, Pidge crouches down to look under the bed from a distance. She waves her flashlight around, but there’s nothing under the bed.

Pidge is sure he’s here. Maybe he’s in a corner. She stands up and shines the light into the darkest areas, hoping for some sign of life.

She finds the new door by accident. The light catches it and slips inside. Pidge steps closer and a flash of eyes stop her.

It’s a bathroom, she can tell from the small amount that the door has been propped open. She’s looking directly in. And standing in the pried-apart doorway, frozen in her beam, is Shiro.

He looks white as a ghost under her light. And he’s holding a big work wrench.

“Oh! Hey,” Pidge says, and stops in her tracks. Her heart is racing. How long was he standing there? Just watching her? Where did he get a weapon? “it’s just me.”

On second thought she turns the flashlight around to show her face. Maybe Shiro doesn’t know who she is yet. It’s a mistake, and she blinds herself and has to take her glasses off as she blinks away the spots in her eyes.

When she looks up Shiro hasn’t moved a muscle. Pidge points her flashlight at the floor so she can still see him, but hopefully she isn’t blinding him either.

“I saw blood on the door, are you okay?” Pidge asks.

Still nothing. He was silent earlier too, when he was so scared of Pidge deactivating his arm that he bit the hole into his arm. Pidge needs him to know that he’s safe. There’s no need for them to fight.

"You scared us, when you ran off," Pidge says, "Hunk and I were bringing you dinner, and we didn't know where you were. Everyone's out looking for you."

“Looking for me?” Shiro asks. His voice sounds gritty and rough. He sounds like he doesn’t talk much. There’s blood streaked on his shirt, though it doesn’t look new. His arm has been re-wrapped, not super well, but that seems to be the source of the blood. Was he picking at it? Pidge really hopes she didn’t make him hurt himself all over again.

"Yeah, we’re worried. Hunk said you're pretty scared," Pidge goes on, "and taking off your arm really freaked you out. I'm sorry. I never wanted to scare you."

Pidge could leave to grab one of the chairs from the door, but she worries about breaking the spell. What if Shiro runs away— she doesn’t want to have to chase him. She stays right where she is, a few steps from the door.

"I'm here to take you home, cause it's easy to get lost out here, but we can wait," Pidge says, "sometimes it's nice to get away from everyone. They're really loud."

“To take me…” Shiro trails off. He squints at her like he can’t understand what she’s saying.

“Home,” Pidge fills in, “back to the main part of the ship. Where we actually have lights, and heat, and all that.”

Shiro squares his shoulders to her and tucks his chin. His grip on the wrench tightens. Pidge immediately recognizes he’s getting ready to fight.

She throws up her hands to motion for him to stop, “Wait, wait. We don’t have to go now. I’m not going to force you.”

Shiro actually relaxes slightly, “I don’t want to go.”

“That’s okay. I can wait,” Pidge assures him.

Shiro cocks his head at her, and his long hair falls over his face. He doesn’t adjust it.

“You will wait?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Pidge says, and shrugs nonchalantly like this is no big deal, “no rush.”

Shiro waves the wrench at the doorway, clearly drawing a line that Pidge shouldn’t cross.

“Stay back,” Shiro warns her, and then turns away and walks out of her sight. A moment later Pidge hears the rustling of what might actually be a shower curtain, and a creak as Shiro… is he getting into a bathtub?

For a moment Pidge actually wonders if Shiro’s about to have a shower.

A minute passes, and then two. Then another. There’s no more sound from Shiro.

Oh, Pidge realizes. She said she’d wait. Shiro’s taking her up on that.

She glances around, and realizes that she’s now alone in the dark room in the dark, scary part of the castle. Pidge takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. It’s way too quiet. It gives her room to imagine all sorts of things out there where she can’t see them coming for her.

"Hunk said you liked the blanket today, is that why you grabbed more?" Pidge asks, and holds up her sealed one, "I found the storage closet. And I grabbed one too. It's a little cold down here, yeah? That was smart."

Pidge decides to unzip her blanket, and gets surprised when it nearly bursts out of the wrapping. She yelps in surprise and drops it on the floor.

The bathtub creaks and Pidge hears the ruffle of the shower curtain, like Shiro’s leaning out to look at her. But he stays quiet.

Pidge shakes out the blanket to try and get it's original fluff back, and wraps it around her shoulders.

"I used to hide in my closet," Pidge says, for something to say, "when I was little. And sometimes I'd go into Matt's closet. I don't know why. At first it was just weird because I wasn't scared of anything, really, but it just always felt better. I liked how cozy it was. Mom actually made me a bed in my closet for a while when I was a little baby. I thought it was super cool. And then when I got older, I started getting scared of stuff like thunderstorms, or the dark. And then I’d hide in my closet. It just… feels safer to hide sometimes, right? That’s why you’re hiding. Because you don’t feel safe.”

Pidge lets it drop there. She hopes Shiro will take the silence to mean he can say something.

Once her, Matt and Dad found a stray cat hiding under their porch. It whimpered and whined for days, but wouldn’t come near them and hissed when she and Matt tried to crawl under to get it. Pidge feels a little guilty comparing Shiro to a cat, but the situations feel too similar. Both Mom and Dad said that patience would win out, and to stay calm to keep from scaring the kitty away. Pidge and Matt sat for hours every day with a can of food set out, hoping for a glimpse of the cat before it saw them and ran away. It took a week before it let them near it, and another week to get it into the carrier to take to the vet.

Patience has never been Pidge’s virtue. She likes to get into things and fix them, or make them work. Sitting and waiting for the cat, and then not jumping around in excitement when it did poke its head out, had been some of the hardest experiences of her life.

She’s really thankful for them now. Her legs are sore so she decides to sit down. She’s going to be waiting, after all.

“You haven’t had dinner yet, are you hungry?” Pidge asks, “we can go back to the kitchen if you want, or, uh, let me see. I think I…” she digs into the utility pouches at her waist, “yeah! Do you like jellybeans? Or, well, whatever the space equivalent is? I got them at the mall from like a vending machine thing. They’re pretty good.”

Pidge can’t wait to tell Lance that her and Hunk’s ideas of snack pockets actually came in handy. He keeps making fun of them for being gluttons.

“I’m gonna come close to give these to you, but just at the door. Okay?” Pidge says.

She waits to let Shiro reply, but he still says nothing.

“I’m coming in,” Pidge says. She’s got a handful of beans in one hand, and crawls the distance to the half-open bathroom door. The flashlight on her wrist jerks around as she moves, but crawling feels much less threatening than walking right now.

The tub, or what she thinks is the tub, creaks and Pidge hears Shiro snarl, “Get back!”

“I’m not coming in,” Pidge assures him, and stops in her tracks. She doesn’t lift her arm to get the light into the room, but from her angle she thinks she can see the glint of Shiro’s eyes in the dark.

Pidge reaches out to set the handful of spacebeans on the ground, just inside the bathroom. She pulls her hand away, slow and steady, and backs up back to where she left her blanket.

“Those are for you,” Pidge says, “I have more, and I can share them, but I don’t want you to get sick again. I mean, you probably shouldn’t be having candy for dinner but we’ll do our best here.”

She pulls the blanket around her again, and for good measure pops one of the beans into her mouth. They’re a little more crunchy than squishy, kind of like a really sweet peanut, but they make for a good snack when she’s working late.

Pidge gets comfy and settles in to wait.

It isn’t long before she hears the shower curtain get pushed aside, and she holds her breath at the sound of slow footsteps. It takes all her willpower to keep her flashlight directed just beside the door, and not directly on it.

Pidge pretends like she’s not looking, but she catches the movement of Shiro’s hand darting out and grabbing the beans. There’s fast steps, and then the shower curtain is pulled back into place as he settles into the tub. She can’t cheer in victory without scaring him, but no one is here to tease her so Pidge breaks into a big grin. Yeah, okay, she can do this.

Pidge gives it a few minutes. She can just barely hear Shiro scarfing down the beans.

“Would you like some more?” Pidge asks.

As expected, there’s no answer. That’s okay. Pidge has… or, well, who knows if they’re still friends now since she’s been missing for quite a while, but she _had_ a lot of really shy friends. She knows how to be comfortable with her own talking. It does her good to not be thinking of how she’s all alone in the dark and wants to feel Matt’s hand in hers.

“I’m gonna put more down,” Pidge says, “don’t be scared. They’re good, right?”

She pulls a couple more from her belt pouch and sets them just inside the doorway this time. Pidge pauses long enough to look up at Shiro— whose face she can only just make out in the dark— and smiles at him.

By the time Pidge sits back down, she can hear the rustle of the shower curtain as Shiro steps out again. Again she plays ignorant and gives him the illusion of privacy when he snatches the beans. She notices he pauses in the doorway, looking at her, and she’s not sure if she should look back or not.

Pidge decides not to move, and Shiro retreats to his safe space. The curtain rustles, and the tub creaks as he drops back into it.

“If you could eat, like, anything you wanted right now. What would it be?” Pidge asks. She waits a couple of beats to confirm that Shiro isn’t going to answer, and then continues, “I miss my mom’s ham. We’d have it for holidays and sometimes during the summer, and there was always so much gross fat on it that I could only ever eat a couple of pieces, but that’s what I miss. Because eating that would mean that we were all together. Mom, Dad, Matt and me. And Gunther. Do you remember Gunther? He’s our dog. I think Dad or Matt probably talked about him to you at some point.”

Pidge waits again, hoping that Shiro will be prompted to talk about his memories. He knew who Keith was. He remembers her family. So he must have his memories, even if he’s acting really weird. Keith said that Shiro may not recognize Hunk even though they’ve met before at the Garrison, though, according to Hunk it was a pretty quick meeting. The other Shiros had memory issues. Pidge hopes that was a byproduct of being an android. This Shiro should remember everything, but he’s acting like he’s never been normal in his life.

 _Scared soldier_ , Pidge reminds herself. Dad always loved stories from veterans. War movies, documentaries of people sitting in circles in badly-lit rooms reminiscing on their past strengths and bravery. Pidge was never really interested in them, except to feel sad for the people involved. But she’s seen enough pieces and clips over the years that she shouldn’t be surprised that Shiro’s not himself.

Pidge goes forwards to drop off some more beans. This time the flashlight on her wrist catches something left behind: a cookie.

She drops the beans and they clatter on the ground.

“Is— is this for me?” Pidge asks. She looks up, and thinks she can spy Shiro’s eyes peeking out at her.

Pidge picks it up delicately. She sweeps what spacebeans she can reach into some semblance of a pile without taking her eyes off the gift.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly, “this— you didn’t have to give me something. I’m here to take care of you.”

“It’s a fair trade,” Shiro growls from the dark.

“Fair…” Pidge trails off, looking at the treat in her hand, “yeah I think it’s more than fair. It’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

“No more,” Shiro insists, “no deal.”

“No… are you full?” Pidge guesses, “too many sweets?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Shiro hisses.

 _Oh_. Pidge swallows heavily, “No, no, Shiro. This— this isn’t a debt! This is something I want to do for you. I wanted to share with you, because you’re probably hungry. And I care about you. You don’t owe me anything for this.”

Pidge is still kneeling in the doorway, encroaching on Shiro’s space. She’s aware she needs to back off or else she’ll have overstayed her welcome. Pidge doesn’t want to fight Shiro— especially Shiro with a weapon. She knows he’s a formidable force. She knows she has her bayard, but to be forced to use it on Shiro seems like the worst thing she could think of.

“I’m not taking this,” she says, and sets the cookie back on the ground, “I can’t. Because this isn’t something you have to pay me for. You keep the candy, and the cookie. I told you earlier: I’m here to take you home when you’re ready, and I meant it. If we spend all night here, that’s fine. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

Pidge goes back to her spot and settles in. Her stomach feels like it’s twisting up at the idea that Shiro thought she was trying to bribe him into something. Well, she wants to make him feel comfortable around her, but that’s not like, a bad thing? Is it?

 

* * *

 

Pidge really wishes she brought something along with her. A comic. Her laptop. Some string, even. Anything to entertain herself. Because Shiro likes to play a long, _long_ waiting game. She has a watch to check the time, but Pidge knows that’s a dangerous habit of watching minutes crawl by. So she holds off. She shines her flashlight all around the room, taking in all the weird Altean decorations and design. She sprawls on her back, blanket loosely thrown over her, and lays there until she realizes she’s getting _too_ comfortable, and forces herself to sit up. She can’t fall asleep on watch. That would be embarrassing.

It’s creepy in the dark. The whole area is abandoned and has no light or power. So things creak and groan, sounds echo that Pidge can’t place. It keeps her on edge, and she’s continuously checking the open door to the room. All she can imagine is looking at it, and one of the times there will be some hideous monster staring back.

Why did Matt always pick horror movies for them to watch?

Pidge is sitting on the blanket for some cushion under her butt, which has almost gone numb, and her chin is tucked to her chest just because it’s more comfortable. Not because she’s sleepy. Not at all.

Something small and hard smacks her in the temple.

“Ow!” Pidge jerks awake and her hand flies up to the injury. Truth be told it barely hurt, and there’s something gritty in her hair. She pulls it out of her hair to examine and it’s… it’s cookie crumbs.

The weapon of choice fell into her lap and she picks it up to hold out as evidence.

“Did you just throw the cookie at me?” Pidge demands.

She hears no response from Shiro, but he hasn’t gone back to the bathtub yet. The curtain hasn’t rustled. He must be just inside the door.

“I told you! I’m not taking payment for feeding you! So keep the cookie and keep the others!”

Pidge throws it back, and misses the sliver of a doorway so the cookie _thuds_ against the wall.

“No debt,” Shiro reminds her.

“This isn’t prison. No one owes anyone anything for eating,” Pidge insists.

She catches the movement of Shiro’s hand, and then she’s being pelted with spacebeans.

“Hey!” Pidge shakes one out of her hair, “I told you, these are for you!”

Against better judgment she throws it back, and manages to get through the door. It bounces off something in the dark.

“I have more that I’ll throw at you, so don’t do it again,” Pidge warns him.

Shiro’s silent again, and Pidge worries that maybe he took her threat literally.

“I won’t throw them at you if it scares you,” Pidge says, “it’s, well, it’s kinda fun to throw food around. But I’m not actually angry. Are you still hungry? Would it make you feel better if we ate together? I think I have a few other candies on me.”

There’s no response to Pidge waits where she is.

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything,” she reminds him, “if eating my stuff makes you uncomfortable, then maybe we could head back to the main part of the ship? This abandoned area is giving me the creeps. I hate the dark, it’s so scary.”

“Yes,” Shiro agrees.

Pidge sits up straighter, “Yes to go back?”

“The dark,” Shiro says, “it’s… it’s terrifying.”

“It’s kind of dumb, but I’m still scared of the dark,” Pidge admits, “I don’t know why, but when I can’t see, I just think of all the stuff that could be there. And I’ve got a really wicked imagination.”

“I’ve seen what’s in the dark,” Shiro says warily, “you’re right to be afraid.”

Pidge isn’t sure how to compute the race of emotions that hit her in that moment. He’s talking about prison. He’s talking about the stuff that happened to him, that makes him act so weird. About being starved so much that he can’t eat food normally, about how he’s so scared he’ll bite himself until he bleeds rather than ask for help.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge blurts out.

Shiro doesn’t move, but his silence speaks curiosity rather than resentment. Maybe Pidge is projecting.

“I’m sorry you suffered,” Pidge says, “and it’s never going to happen to you again. Whatever the Galra— Haggar, the Druids, any of them! Whatever they did to you, however they hurt you, it won’t happen again. You have us now. We’re going to keep you safe.”

Pidge hears him sigh, just inside the door, and his footsteps as he retreats.

Pidge sits up straight, “It’s true! I promise, Shiro. Just like today— I promised not to hurt you. And I didn’t. We had to take away your arm because it was made by people who want to hurt you. We did it to keep you safe. That’s all we want, for you to be safe.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro dismisses her.

“No,” Pidge pushes, “you’re not. You don’t believe me. We’re your friends Shiro. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“I’ve had many friends,” Shiro remarks, and there’s a snarl to his voice that Pidge can’t tell if he’s resentful or proud of his words, “and I killed most of them.”

 

* * *

 

Pidge refuses to leave. Champion crouches down, on the balls of his feet, and watches her from the dark. She refuses to turn off her light, so it’s all too easy to spot her. He’s careful to avoid the glare of it as to not ruin his eyesight. If he wants to get past her, all he has to do is rush her. Her fear makes her weak.

The wrench is heavy in his hands. If not for the Druid’s oath holding him back, he would have killed her by now.

“I’ll be here until you’re ready to go back,” Pidge says to him, “and I’ll stand guard if you want to sleep or something.”

Champion has had others stand guard for him. Alliances weren’t rare in the prisons, but they were never long-lived. He had many partners who worked to keep one another alive, who offered at least one side he didn’t have to guard against. And then when the battle gates open and Champion saw his ally across the ring, ready for battle? He killed them and he survived, just like any other fight. That was how things worked.

Pidge is so adamant that she wishes him no harm. But she… she’s the one who immobilized his arm. She took it from him. Her _and_ Hunk. The two that claim to want to care for him, but set him up for death.

This is all an act. It must be lies. The Druid Allura is likely whispering in their ear, telling them to make Champion drop his guard so she can humiliate him before he dies. Or worse, before he becomes a beast like that mechanical lion.

Pidge has been unable to stop herself from talking for very long, so Champion just waits her out. And sure enough, she begins to babble again. He tunes her out. While she’s talking it’s easier to know where she is and that she’s staying put.

She’s clearly here to mark him, to tell the others where he is, but they are not here yet. Perhaps down here, where the lights don’t work, the Crew’s tech also does not work. Perhaps they’re still preparing for how to recapture him. Champion intends to enjoy these last moments of freedom.

Pidge is respecting his boundary still, so Champion can retreat. He returns to the cleaning pod, and lies down in his makeshift bed. The sensations on his face from all the different cloths and fabrics still make him sigh in delight, and he rubs his cheek against them. His arm hurts, but he thinks the wound has clotted because it’s a distant ache now.

Pidge is still talking, and asking him questions occasionally. Why is she measuring him?

He regrets eating her food. He’d meant to throw it back to her, as it could have been poison or some other drugs, but one taste of it and he’d been unable to help himself. This crew has an abundance of flavors that make Champion’s mouth water at just the memory of the food he’s eaten. He’s become gluttonous in his short time with them. Greedy, too. They’re weakening him.

Maybe it is time for him to die. The beans may yet prove to be deadly.

He muses on the thought only a moment before denial races up his spine. Whoever kills him will have to earn his death.

Champion glances back at the doorway. Light shines in from Pidge’s flashlight, and moves around as she waves her hands while talking. She insists that this crew wants her to be safe, just like Hunk insisted that no one wants to hurt him.

What does safe mean? Alive and able-bodied for the next battle? Not hurting him means _right now_ , but there’s always the promise of _later_. There’s always a time when Champion has angered his captors too much for them to keep being nice, and they must put him in line. It’s on that line that Champion can regain his power, and find his balance again.

Champion needs to find that line. Once he finds the limits, then everything can make sense again.

He steps out of his nest. Pidge’s voice trembles a moment— she heard him, good— and Champion takes a moment to pick out a blanket to bring with him.

He’s being greedy, so he decides to bring three. He can’t pick one he likes best. It’s excessive. He doesn’t even know what to do with three, but he seats himself in the doorway where Pidge was leaving the tantalizing candies. She stops speaking when she sees him.

“How are you feeling?” Pidge asks.

Champion ignores her, wraps one blanket around his shoulders, and struggles to do the same with the second. He leaves the third in his lap, and sets the wrench on top.

“Blankets make me feel less scared,” Pidge says, starting a new topic. Champion doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

He takes in the sight of her. She’s dressed in her armor. The same she was wearing when she and Keith infiltrated the Arena to capture him. She’s probably armed then. Champion still has his oath to Allura that will prevent him from intentionally harming her, but he hopes that the oath does not cover him defending himself. And Pidge is small. Even with only one arm, Champion has a hope of being able to disarm her.

Is it worth running? If they were intending to kill him, they would have done so the moment Pidge found Champion. Instead, she’s continuing to play the charade of being kind to him.

He needs to find a baseline. If they aren’t going to kill him, then what do they want?

“What are your intentions?” he demands.

Pidge stops talking at the sound of his voice, “In— intentions?”

Champion waits to let her interpret the question.

“With— with you?” she says nervously, “Shiro we told you— yesterday. Don’t you remember? The Kerberos Mission, the Galra, Voltron. All of it. You’re our friend, that’s why we want to help you.”

Champion frowns as he thinks. The last day has felt so clear, and also like such a blur. So much has changed so fast, he can barely keep up.

Pidge fills the silence, “Are you… do you even remember that? Are you having trouble with your memory? That could be why you’re so nervous around us.”  

“You took my arm,” he reminds her.

“To help you. We didn’t want to, but we had to,” Pidge says.

“You’re hunting me, even now,” Champion says.

“Because you’re hurting yourself,” Pidge groans, “look, I guess we don’t look too friendly from your perspective, but I promise you that we care about you.”

She’s staying firm to her story, despite Champion poking at all the flaws in it. He’s getting no new information from her.

“You kidnapped me so I could give you information on your family,” Champion suggests.

“I hoped you would know something, but we’ll find Matt and my Dad. I know Matt’s alive because of you,” Pidge says.

Champion grinds his teeth. Why won’t she tell him the truth? Why does she keep sticking to this story?

This is like a fight. He needs to find her weaknesses. Things that make her vulnerable. Pidge is searching for her family. It means she cares about their wellbeing. Champion can target that.

“I want to kill Matt,” Champion says idly, “I have for a long time.”

He keeps his eyes off of her, to keep from being blinded by her light, but he can see her freeze all the same. Her talking stops.

“You… what?” she sounds confused, stunned even. Good.

“I should have killed him,” Champion amends.

“No,” she says firmly, “you never wanted that.”

“I do,” he protests, “it started when I survived. When I kept winning, and I realized what I had gotten myself into. I spent a lot of time dreaming about seeing Matt in the ring, and I dreamed about all the ways I was going to kill him for putting me there. I hate him.”

“You wouldn’t have hurt him,” Pidge tells him, “you did that to save him. You’re a good person, Shiro.”

Champion thinks about the screaming children he pulled from hidey-holes and smashed their heads in, because there had to be a winner and a loser, and he wasn’t going to die. He thinks about the opponents he sabotaged— starting fights just to injure them before their match. Stealing food from the sick because they couldn’t fight back and he was hungry.

“No,” he says, “I’m really not.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” Pidge says adamantly, “I know you.”

“You don’t know me,” Champion reminds her, “you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

He’s lying? No! She’s the liar. No one will tell him the truth. No one will tell him why they stole him from the arena but haven’t made him fight. Why they took his arm but won’t kill him. Why won’t anyone give him an answer?

“Why are you saying this?” Pidge asks, and there’s a tremor to her voice. Champion can feel that tremor like a physical urge. He smells blood. He has to go for the kill. He can’t resist. It makes him loose with his words, free with his anger.

“You’re fools just like the Galra,” Champion snarls, “you think you can break me, control me. But it won’t work! I know this is a trick, I know this whole scheme is Druid work. You’re pathetic to think you could fool me!”

He’s giving away his information, but he can’t help it. Pidge invited his wrath. Champion has oceans of it inside of him.

Champion expects her to rise to match him. To strike him down, to shackle him again and drag him back to the prisons. To torture him for being unhelpful, to beat him into momentary submission. All things he has endured before, all responses that he knows are coming. They cannot resist his insolence any longer. The spell must break. This false kindness has to end, and the pain will come back. The world will make sense once more. He’s ready.

Champion is not ready when Pidge starts crying.

He’s stunned into silence, and her sobbing fills the room. Champion has seen many prisoners cry. It is a standard sound in the halls. Someone is always crying.

He’s never seen one of his captors cry.

“Stop it,” Champion growls.

Pidge wipes at her eyes, and attempts to start speaking, but is overcome by her emotions.

“Stop it!” Champion shouts.

“No!” Pidge shouts, insolent like a child, “you stop! Why are you saying all of that? Is that what you think of us? You think we’re like the Galra?”

“You are,” Champion insists.

“How?” Pidge demands. She sniffles loudly and wipes at her face, “how, Shiro? What did we ever do to hurt you? All we’ve done is try to help you, and you think we’re, what? Going to hurt you?”

Champion feels like the answer to that is obvious.

“Why are you crying?” he asks instead.

Pidge hiccups and waits a moment to try and compose herself, “I— I’m crying b—because you hurt me,” she tells him.

“I didn’t touch you,” Champion says.

“Is that all you care about?” Pidge asks, “hurting people? Waiting for someone to hurt you?”

That’s life. What else is there? Winners and losers, captors and prisoners. Life is checks and balances, and Champion knows how to make the best of his standing.

“Shit, Shiro,” Pidge groans, “I’m— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling, but, holy _shit_. Is that seriously what you think? Is that why you’re so weird around us? You’re expecting us to hurt you?”

“That’s what happens,” Champion says. Why isn’t she attacking him? She should strike out. She’s not as large as him, maybe she recognizes that a physical brawl is not in her favor. She’ll wait to hurt him when he’s not expecting it.

“Shit,” Pidge hisses, “shit, shit, shit. I didn’t— we had no idea— god, shit, _quiznak_ , Shiro. I’m so sorry.”

Does she want him to empathize with her? Champion doesn’t know what angle she’s going for.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Pidge says, as if repeating this lie makes it true, “I promise you Shiro. I— here,”

She stands up suddenly. Champion grips the wrench tight, prepared for battle. _Finally_. And end to this nonsense.

Pidge starts removing her armor.

The leg bracers, the chest plate, her gauntlets. She throws them to the floor, leaving only her flashlight active, and stands in her flightsuit. Champion stares at her. What is she doing?

“See, no armor. I have no way to hurt you. I mean it, Shiro, we’re your friends. Please, just give us a chance,” she pleads.

She’s asking for him to strike. Leaving herself so exposed like this. How could he resist? And they all do— they all have. They turn their backs to him, expose their throats or their hearts and they expect him not to act? To take advantage?

Champion snarls at her. He swore an oath to the Druid. He can’t harm them. Pidge is taunting him, she must be.

He doesn’t understand _anything_ about Pidge. She’s not like the others.

That has to be why she makes no sense.

Pidge flinches back, and Champion takes his leave. He goes back to the pod and his pillows. If she tries to follow he will defend himself, somehow. He doesn’t want to look at her right now. He doesn’t want to listen to her words, or her crying, or her lies. He pulls his blanket up over his head and blocks it all out.

 

* * *

 

“You’re such a baby,” Pidge mutters at herself, and kicks the chestplate of her armor angrily. She hasn’t cried in a long time, and here she is being a huge loser in front of Shiro. When Shiro _clearly_ needs someone way more adult than she is, someone who knows what the hell to do with him. Pidge kicks the pile of armor again, just because at least _that_ felt good. She wants to scream, maybe cry a bit more.

Her gauntlet— with the flashlight— rolls with her kick, and skids under the bed. In an instant, everything goes dark.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Pidge chants. She dives for it, following the small glow she can still see. It’s not completely dark, it’s not completely dark. She’s okay.

She scrambles, and manages to pull it out. Quickly she checks all the corners, and then the doorway. Nothing has moved. There’s nothing there.

Pidge is panting, and her hands are shaking. It was only, like, thirty seconds, she tries to tell herself. She’s just overly emotional from fighting with Shiro, from all the things Shiro said. She doesn’t have to be freaking out this much.

And it’s late. It’s _really_ late, too. She’s exhausted, and scared, and has a headache from crying now too, and she just really wants someone like Keith or Coran here right now. They’d know what to do with Shiro.

Pidge slides her gauntlet back on, if only to have her light attached to her now. She takes deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

Her wrist beeps. The battery is getting low— no, worse. It’s nearly dead.

“Shiro,” she says quickly, “Shiro we have to go. My— the light is gonna die. We have to go before it’s dark. Right now.”

There’s no movement from inside the bathroom. Pidge steps towards it, to go in and get him, and then stops herself. Shiro thinks they’re out to hurt him, that they’re just like the Galra. It’s why he ran away and tried to hide in this little room. Like Hunk said, he’s scared. And no wonder, if he’s just waiting for someone to hurt him.

If Pidge goes in there right now, she’s going to be charging in on a space that Shiro made for himself, to feel secure. He ran away from his room because they were all barging in all the time, so he wasn’t safe there either.

“Shiro,” Pidge asks once more, “please. Please can we go? I promise no one is going to hurt you. You have my word.”

Also, Pidge has to remind herself that Shiro has a weapon with him. He’s made it clear he’s willing to hurt her. She can’t go in his space.

The battery beeps again. It’s bone-chilling in its implications.

“Shiro, please. I can’t be in the dark,” Pidge pleads, “I know I’m supposed to be brave, and there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I’m scared, okay? I’m really scared. I’m not gonna leave you. But I really want to go home.”

There’s no answer. Pidge wonders if Shiro just went to sleep after their fight. Argument. Disagreement. Conversation? She’s not sure how to classify it, only that it makes her need to talk to him more. Or get him to talk to someone else, someone better at this stuff than her.

“Shiro!” Pidge shouts, a little more desperate, “wake up! Answer me. Can we go home? I want to go home!”

The battery beeps again.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Pidge whimpers. She moves forwards, to bang on the wall or shout in through the door— anything to get Shiro to get up. They have to go. Pidge’s heart is beating like a jackhammer. She remembers all the times Matt would hold her hand in the dark so she wouldn’t have to be alone.

She misses her brother so much.

“Shiro,” Pidge starts— and then the light goes out.

 

* * *

 

Champion can’t stop thinking about Pidge. Why is she different. Why did she cry? Why hasn’t she hurt him?

She’s given him answers. Reasons for everything, no matter how weak the argument may be. She seems convinced of her words.

But Champion knows better. He’s been deceived by uglier lies, and he won’t be caught off guard. He just needs to know what they want from him. Why haven’t they hurt him? Why won’t they punish him? They let him walk freely without chains, they feed him all the food he wants. They give him a bed. They give him _bedding_. They let him shower daily, they give him a window to space.

So what do they want? Why would anyone do that for someone like him?

Champion doesn’t understand these new rules. Nothing makes sense. He just wants everything to go back to the way it should be. He knows his limits, he knows his place.

Pidge is talking again, and Champion ignores her. He doesn’t want to speak to her until he knows how to refute her lies. She weaves such a nice story. Of a merciful crew of strangers rushing in to rescue him from the prisons. It’s too much like the hopeful dreams he used to have. Haggar knows them all. He can’t trust this happiness. He can’t trust this safety. It’s all going to fall apart the moment he lets his guard down—

Pidge screams.

Champion goes still. When the guards came into the cells at night, when it was dark, you didn’t move. When the screams started as they grabbed your neighbors, your cellmates, someone you were holding to in the dark to keep yourselves sane, you didn’t move. You closed your eyes and hoped their hands didn’t touch you. Anyone taken in darkness never returned.

Others screamed at night too. Those who had visited the Druids and returned often screamed. If they didn’t take their own lives, sometimes their cellmates would smother them just to get some relief from the noise. Champion spent many nights screaming.

Or pain. There was always pain. It accompanied the crying, and the screams. As long as you were able to shout, you would live. It was when the screaming stopped…

Pidge has stopped screaming. She’s crying.

Champion sits up. She’s not hurt. They’re still alone. Why is she crying? Why is she crying _again_?

It’s dark. But it’s not Haggar’s darkness. He can hear Pidge, he knows he is not alone. So it cannot be Haggar.

Champion slides out of the pod, light on his feet like a ghost. Pidge’s flashlight is off. She must still be blinded from using it. Champion can make out the shapes of his surroundings. He navigates easily to the doorway. The wrench is ready, held tightly for a quick swing.

Pidge is on the floor. She’s kneeling over her armor, and trying to put it on. Champion can tell from here that she’s fumbling and doing it incorrectly.

He also knows she can’t see him. He could leave now. Escape to somewhere else. Try for a ship again, avoid the beast that tried to take his mind.

Pidge whimpers between sobs.

What had she said earlier? That she was scared of the dark.

Champion considers himself in this moment. He is one of the things she should fear. And she knows it.

But he also recalls his early days in the prisons. The new people didn’t scream. They cried. Because they were afraid, and didn’t understand. Champion cried a lot in the beginning. Freshly alone, unable to communicate, cold and afraid in the dark. It took kind spirits, still yet unbroken by the system, taking him in and letting him sleep between them, to make him stop crying. He can still remember the panic being soothed from his bones when the loneliness was kept at bay. One alien was later taken by the Druids, the other died in a melee event that Champion was not part of. But their kindness kept Champion sane. It probably kept him alive.

He wonders if Pidge has seen a real monster. Would the Druid Allura keep pets like Haggar did? Does the Lion play that role. Is that what scares Pidge? Or is it the threat of Champion’s attack?

Champion moves forwards without hiding himself. Pidge freezes at the sound of his footsteps.

“Shiro?” she looks around blindly, “i—is that you?”

“Stop crying,” he orders, “it’s too loud.”

Pidge gasps, recoiling as if she hadn’t realized how close he was to her. Champion gets a perverse thrill at making her afraid. He’s going to leave her here. She isn’t attacking him— what a useless guard she is. He’ll find somewhere else in the dark to thrive.

Pidge launches herself at him and wraps her arms around his waist.

Champion freezes, wrench raised to strike. He’ll bash her head in, he’ll pin her throat and choke her. He’ll break her bones or her nose or her teeth— anything!

The Druid’s oath rings clear in his mind. He can’t strike.

But she doesn’t bite him, doesn’t go for the kill.

The panic clears out of Champion’s mind and he comes back to himself.

“Oh thank god,” she sobs, “t—the light went out. It’s so dark. I’m sorry I’m such a baby I don’t want to be but I’m so scared!”

Her fingers twist in his shirt, securing their position. She will refuse to let go of him. Her hands are small, and weak. They aren’t the hands of a killer. Champion could pry her off easily. He can leave her here.

She’s wheezing, panting as she cries. It’s a sound Champion is familiar with. Most new prisoners suffered several panic attacks before they grew accustomed to the stress. Champion remembers someone rubbing his back as strangers held him, gave him room to be afraid, and a platform to find his courage again.

It could be good to have an ally. It would be nice to think that someone is telling him the truth.

Champion doesn’t let go of his wrench as he brings his hand down to Pidge’s shoulders. He uses the length of it to guide her forwards. Pidge gasps and goes still at the touch. She knows that this could be a threat. She doesn’t let go of him, and so Champion carries her as much as he pushes her, and the two of them go back to safety.

 

* * *

 

Pidge wakes up with a kink in her neck so bad, she already has a headache.

She groans, rubs at her eyes and knocks her glasses off. Why was she wearing them? Why is it dark?

Where is she?

Pidge kicks out as she struggles to get up. She’s tied up— there’s something heavy around her arms. She can’t get out, it’s like a straightjacket.

She kicks something solid, that grunts at the impact.

Something _clicks_ and then there’s light and she’s blinded. Pidge blinks rapidly to see that she’s… she’s in a bathtub. And wrapped in a blanket. Shiro’s curled up at the other end and giving her an incredibly disappointed look. He has his wrench resting on his hip.

“What?” Pidge asks, “where am I? What happened?”

“You had a panic attack,” Shiro says, and shrugs like it was nothing, “then you slept. I kept watch.”

“You… you saved me,” Pidge realizes, and the adrenaline from her abrupt wakeup will fade quickly, but right now? She’s giddy, “see! I told you that you were a good person. I knew it!”

“No,” Shiro disagrees, “you were noisy. Now sleep more.”

He clicks off the light in his hand. They’re in darkness again, but Pidge can press her feet against his leg, and knows that he’s there. It’s an entirely different kind of dark now.

Wait a minute…

“Did you have that light the whole time?” Pidge asks.

Shiro doesn’t answer.

“You could have just given it to me, rather than bring me here,” Pidge says.

“Sleep,” Shiro growls.

Pidge is beaming, and not even the fact that she can’t turn her head is bothering her, “I’m just saying. It’s a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

They settle into silence again. Pidge is pretty sure Shiro isn’t sleeping. At first she thinks it would be impossible for her to sleep as well, but the adrenaline fades and she’s left hollowed out in the aftermath. She hasn’t had a freakout like that since Matt and Dad were announced missing. She’d forgotten how draining they are.

She feels really gross. She knows she stinks— she sweats a lot normally, but even more when she’s scared. And she can smell Shiro too. If he’s scared of them, like Hunk says, then he’s probably sweating a lot too. Great. They’re two stinky people sleeping in a bathtub.

Pidge adjusts a lumpy pillow under her to try and not jar her neck as much, and pulls her scratchy blanket a little tighter.

“You can’t stay here, you know,” she says into the silence.

Shiro doesn’t respond, but she knows he’s listening.

“Like, you could. But, realistically speaking: you have no food, no water. You don’t have anywhere to even use the bathroom if you want to flush. It’s not sustainable.”

Of all the reasons to convince Shiro to come back, hopefully this is the one that works.

“I have water,” Shiro mumbles.

“Really? Do the taps even work? Wait— did you drink it? It’s like a thousand years old,” Pidge says, “who knows if the filters are even working down here.”

The silence feels… pouty. Pidge isn’t sure how, but that’s the impression she gets.

“We’ll have a big meal when we get back, and maybe Allura will let us all sleep in a bit,” Pidge continues, “Hunk is such a good cook. I bet he’ll make you all the cookies you want.”

Shiro doesn’t respond, but the silence isn’t weird. It almost feels comfortable. Pidge knows he isn’t going to hurt her. He brought her into his space.

“I missed you,” Pidge says softly, “I guess I only knew the other yous— the androids— but they, they were good friends. I think you— they— were trying to step in for my brother. I’m sorry I didn’t know they weren’t the real you.”

Pidge doesn’t expect a response, but she’s happy she got to give Shiro her confession. She snuggles in, and doesn’t feel scared when she can feel the edge of sleep taking her down.

Someone shouts her name— faint. It’s so faint she would normally have never heard it, except it’s so quiet in here she can hear the silence.

Pidge sits up slowly, and she can feel Shiro freeze.

There it is again. It sounds… like the others.

Oh no. Pidge realizes immediately what’s happening. It’s been hours— it might have even been all night at this rate. And she hasn’t checked in. No one knows where she is.

“It’s okay,” she tells Shiro quickly, “they’re worried about us.”

The voices are getting closer. They’re going to see the open door, and find her helmet right outside.

Someone was running ahead of the shouts, because suddenly there’s a loud _crack_ as the barricade Shiro set up is kicked in. Lights shine all over the room as multiple flashlights scan the area.

Shiro gets to his feet. He’s lightning fast. So much that it startles Pidge. She’s used to him moving slow. He’s baring his teeth, like a snarl, but his hand is shaking. He has his wrench.

Pidge can’t let anyone come in here.

“Pidge? Pidge?” Keith shouts. He’s in the room.

“Are you in here?” Lance is a second behind.

Pidge falls over herself getting out of the tub. She shoves past Shiro and is still wrapped in the blanket when she gets to the door.

“Stop! Stop!” she says. She’s immediately blinded by everyone’s lights in her face.

“Pidge?” Hunk shouts excitedly, and then he’s running for her.

Pidge jumps forwards, hands out, “Stop!” she shouts.

Hunk skids to a halt.

Keith has his bayard drawn still— it’s how he must have cut through the barricade. Lance and Allura flank him on either side.

“Shiro’s in there,” Keith says. It’s not a question.

Pidge can see Shiro in her peripheral. He’s standing right inside the door. His eyes are wide, his lips are pulled back, and he’s got the wrench. If anyone spooks him it’s going to end badly for everyone involved.

Pidge can barely see any of them with all of their lights in her face, “Yeah,” she says, “but you can’t come in. He’s gonna come back on his own, okay? You all need to back off.”

“Why were you and Shiro hiding in the bathroom?” Lance asks.

“We’re not gonna hurt him,” Hunk says.

“Back off,” Pidge gestures them back with her hands.

“We thought you’d been hurt,” Allura says.

Pidge grimaces, “I’m so sorry. That was my fault. I’ve just been here, with Shiro. I wasn’t thinking.”

Allura glances behind Pidge and her lips thin into a flat line, “I’ll wait outside,” she declares.

Everyone looks pale and exhausted. They’ve all got huge bags under their eyes. They must have been out searching for Shiro all this time, and then for her too.

“I’m really sorry,” Pidge says.

“Is Shiro okay?” Keith asks.

“Are _you_ okay?” Lance interrupts.

Pidge nods, “We’re good. We’ve been talking a lot. There’s a lot I have to share with you guys, later. But for now we can’t force Shiro to do anything. Even leave. I told him I’d stay until he was ready to go back. And I have to keep my promise.”

“We’ll stay,” Keith decides.

“No,” Pidge says, “it’s too many of us. Shiro and I are fine.”

“Don’t you want to come back now? You know, so you don’t get lost,” Lance points out.

Everything in Pidge wants to go home now. She wants her bed. She wants some food, and her string of lights above her bed.

“Hold on,” she says, and ducks into the bathroom as if the others won’t be able to hear the conversation. Shiro’s hand is shaking. Pidge tries not to look at it.

“Do you want to go?” Pidge asks.

His breathing hitches. He’s breathing really fast. Pidge doesn’t know how to calm him down. Shiro ducks his head, and all of his hair falls into his face so she can’t read his expression.

“Do I have a choice?” Shiro asks.

“Yes,” Pidge insists, “I’ll stay. I’ll even sleep in that cramped tub more if you need it. But I won’t drink the water.”

She hopes Shiro finds that funny.

Shiro’s stomach growls, startling them both.

“I’m sure Hunk would make us some food,” Pidge offers.

Shiro doesn’t answer her, but Pidge waits him out on this one.

He sighs wearily, “I’m hungry,” he admits.

Pidge smiles, “Okay. Let’s go back now. We can eat, and then we can all have a long nap. I’m exhausted.”

She turns to tell the others the good news, but Shiro grabs her by the arm.

“I’m— I’m not. I’m not ready,” he says, “and you said you would wait.”

“But you’re hungry,” Pidge turns to face him.

Shiro shakes his head, his eyes are wide with fear, “I disobeyed. I can’t eat until after the punishment.”

Pidge repeats him slowly, unable to understand what he’s saying, “Punish… oh. No, Shiro! No, I told you! No one is going to hurt you.”

Shiro’s grip on her arm tightens, “But I ran. I caused problems. That’s how it works.”

“Not here,” Pidge insists, “we care about you. No one wants to hurt you. I promise.”

Pidge holds out her hand, palm up. Shiro stares at it like it might bite him. He lifts his hand, like he’s thinking about returning the gesture, but realizes he has the wrench. Pidge sees him calculating, weighing pros and cons of letting go of his weapon.

“Can I hold your other arm?” Pidge offers.

Shiro considers for a moment, and then nods once. Pidge comes around him and brings her hand up to hold onto Shiro’s arm. There’s so much raised scar tissue on his skin that it feels weird to the touch. He’s shaking.

“C’mon,” she says, and steps back, “it’s going to be okay. You can trust us. You can trust me.”

Shiro doesn’t pull back, though for a moment he starts hyperventilating. She can see the moment he steels himself, goes quiet and cold, but she can still feel him shaking.

“I’ll protect you,” Pidge promises.

“A promise?” Shiro whispers.

Pidge nods, “I promise.”

Shiro’s still shaking badly, and he looks down to the weapon in his hand. He takes a deep breath, and as he exhales he drops the wrench. It clatters loudly on the ground. Shiro’s big, broad hand comes around to cover Pidge’s on his arm. He squeezes her fingers.

Pidge pats his hand with her other hand, “I got you,” she says, “you’re okay.”

Pidge pokes her head into the doorway and makes eye contact with the others, “No one’s going to hurt Shiro, right?”

She eyes Keith specifically, who doesn’t get the hint.

“Dude, your bayard,” Lance hisses.

Keith’s eyes go wide and he dismisses it immediately.

Pidge nods at what she sees, and then leads Shiro into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Champion. Two steps forwards, three steps back. Old habits die hard, and he's learned that trust only leads to pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!!! LONG time..... long time since the last update. Apologies! Life, work, other ideas, etc all got in the way, but I've slowly continued picking at this until I've got a chapter that I'm very happy with and can't wait to share with all of you!
> 
> Some housekeeping: a LOT of you are very interested in what Champion's time in the prisons was like. This isn't the fic that's going to go into a lot of detail about his time there, B U T if you wanted to read a fic that DOES do that, then you absolutely need to read [Smile Wide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616538/chapters/19757494) by Serbajean (Sassafrassrex) Smile Wide is NOT Sunset in Reverse!Champion's actual backstory, but the intensity and the brutality of Sass's Smile Wide world hits a lot of the ideas and points that I have in mind when writing Champion for this story. 
> 
> As always, shoutouts to Gitwrecked and QueenVallkyrie (Valkyriered) for being my cheering squad and helping me whenever I wrote myself into corners, as well as proofreading and helping me not make a fool of myself when I spell 'teh' instead of 'the'
> 
> I'm so excited to share this chapter with y'all, so, with all this said and done, go forth and ENJOY!!! I've had this ending scene written since around the time I started writing chapter 1, and it feels so good to finally publish it.
> 
> **Warnings: typical warnings apply. 
> 
> **NOTE: there's a small time jump from the last chapter to this one. Less than a week, more than a few days.

“How much longer do we have to be like this,” Lance groans. 

His voice is croaky with sleep, even though he and Hunk haven’t been napping long. They’d given up on trying to play their video game a while ago, opting to nap instead.

Hunk doesn’t even open his eyes to respond, “You’d think being on lockdown on a spaceship this big wouldn’t be so bad. But it’s been what? More than a week? They’ll give up soon. We just need to wait a little longer.”

“It sucks,” Lance says.

“The worst,” Hunk agrees, “why can’t the Galra stop looking for us?” 

“Because we took Shiro back,” Lance reminds himself, and Hunk, “so it’s worth having to hide for a bit.”

Hunk nods, “Yeah. They sure are pissed about that.”

Lance lifts his head from Hunk’s shoulder to look at him. The movement makes Hunk open his eyes.

“It’s good that we got Shiro back, right?” Lance asks.

Hunk frowns.

“Don’t give me that look,” Lance says, “like, of course it’s good that we saved Shiro. He’s one of us. But you know what I mean.”

Hunk looks away, guilty, but still voices an argument “He’s making progress.”

“So you and Pidge say,” Lance says, “he doesn’t talk to the rest of us— except when he lies. Remember when Shiro told me you stole my music?”

“Yeah,” Hunk admits, “that was… confusing. But lying and being suspicious, it’s all from the prison.”

“I know,” Lance says, and drops back down to rest on Hunk, “but sometimes I miss the old Shiro, you know? It’s complicated now.”

“I know,” Hunk agrees, “he’s just… he needs some more time. But I really think he’s coming around.”

“Coran told me Shiro followed him around one night— like, in a sneaky way. It freaked him out,” Lance says.

“Okay, but, Coran is pretty easy to freak out,” Hunk says, “he’s a little dramatic.”

“So he didn’t say it freaked him out, I just assumed, but, isn’t that weird? It’s like how Shiro just lurks and stares at us,” Lance says, “I… I feel like he doesn’t like us. Like he looks at us like he—” 

“Like he wants to kill us?” Hunk finishes.

“Yeah,” Lance admits, “and… Shiro’s my hero. I’ve looked up to him since forever, but… but it’s hard when he scares me.”

“Well he’s not gonna kill anyone,” Hunk says.

“Are you sure?” Lance demands. 

“You think he would?” Hunk asks, sitting up.

Lance whines as he’s displaced, and sits up as well.

“You’re so suspicious,” Hunk says with a laugh, “when did we switch personalities?”

Lance shrugs, “I just… I can’t believe you’re not. You really trust him?”

“It’s Shiro,” Hunk insists.

“Barely,” Lance says, “doing bad things… it changes people. And, I mean, did any of us really know Shiro before this?”

“Keith did,” Hunk offers.

“And you’ll trust Keith’s opinion on people?” Lance snorts, “Keith thought the fake Shiro was still Shiro, even when he was trying to kill us.”

“Hey,” Hunk scolds, “Keith stopped the android. You know how hard that was for him.”

Lance sighs, “Yeah, sorry. Woops. Um, I just mean… yeah, Keith knew Shiro from home. But now he’s Shiro from the Arena.”

“You don’t just become someone else,” Hunk says. 

“So I’m dumb for being scared?” Lance snaps.

Hunk leans back, “Whoa, no, when did I say that?”

“You keep arguing that there’s nothing wrong with him! If you think he’s so great, then why don’t you go hang out with him?” Lance says.

“You keep saying he’s a threat,” Hunk says, “I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong with him— like, he’s messed up, that’s for sure. But I don’t think he’s evil—”

“I never said he was evil!” Lance shouts.

The door to Hunk’s room opens with a whoosh. Both Lance and Hunk freeze, and turn to look at the open door.

Shiro’s standing in the doorway. He’s staring right at them. Lance’s stomach churns in knots. Was Shiro listening to their conversation?

Shiro glares at them and doesn’t say a word, or move a muscle. His long hair is hanging in his face. 

“H-hey big guy,” Lance stammers. 

“Do you need some help?” Hunk offers. 

Shiro finally averts his gaze, and makes an obvious sweep of Hunk’s room: taking in the scattered clothes, the little projects and clutter that Hunk works on, Lance’s slippers, the abandoned video game with the tv screen still on and flickering gray static.

“Shiro?” Lance asks again. 

Shiro doesn’t blink, looks up to glare at them again, and then turns and walks away. 

Lance and Hunk glance at one another in a silent question. Lance is the one who finally slides off the bed to go to the door. 

He can’t hear footsteps walking away— not that it means much, because Shiro’s always barefoot and doesn’t make much sound— but he has a sudden thought of wondering if Shiro’s waiting just outside the door. Maybe he’s eavesdropping, maybe he’s lying in wait to scare them. Or to just… do something. The thought of  _ something _ makes Lance’s stomach twist in knots. 

Lance closes the door without looking out. He hesitates a moment— maybe Shiro will come back?— but decides to lock the door. The locking mechanism beeps loudly in the silence. 

Lance keeps his head down as he walks back to Hunk’s bed. 

“I just want things to be normal,” Lance says as he climbs in.

Hunk makes room for him, “Yeah buddy, me too.”

Lance doesn’t ask why Hunk won’t protest locking the door. He knows they both feel safer now. Even still, he presses a little closer to Hunk, and feels Hunk press a little closer in return.   
  


* * *

  
There’s no routine. Champion can make routine for himself, but the routine is aimless. The Paladins flock to him, hovering around him like they want his attention. They watch his every move. He’s scrutinized, patronized, and harassed everywhere he goes with pointless, stupid questions. 

He spends a lot of time trying to avoid them. He explores everything that he can, getting sense of his new prison. There are more rooms than the main area that the crew frequents. All of them have locks, but none of them are locked.

The Castleship is on lockdown. They’ve made that abundantly clear. No ship comes or goes, neither does the Castleship. They’ve angered the Empire with the attack on the Royal Fleet to steal Champion away from the Arena, and the entire Universe is abuzz with fleets and fighters on the hunt for Voltron. 

The Paladins had daily weapons and fighting training, though they have grown lax in that the longer the wait becomes. Champion isn’t invited to join them, and Allura gave an order that Champion was not required to fight, so he should not be near the weapons. They seem to be wary of having him anywhere near violence. It’s smart, though, because it means Champion doesn’t know how they fight. It puts him at a disadvantage should they ever come to blows. Not that the Druid Allura would ever let that happen. 

She is every bit a matriarch, though Champion finds her crew does not always give her the respect a Druid demands. They are lazy and complain when forced to labor, and make snide comments that she does not rip out their tongues for. Sometimes she even laughs like she is amused by them. 

The crew is in chaos, that’s clear to him. There’s no order. No proper routine. They appear to be making everything up as they go. How such a ragtag bunch of fools managed to force their way past the Royal Fleet’s defenses to kidnap him continues to baffle Champion. It’s the only thing that keeps him from dismissing the crew immediately. There must be some sort of skill or prowess to this captors.

Pidge invades his space every time they are in a room together. Champion allows it, if only because he has nothing other than his words to fend her off with. She’s intelligent, so he lets her talk over him. She will often lose herself to her work and forget he is there, and then he can slide away to be alone. She’s his favorite for this reason. Sometimes the contact is nice though. Champion likes that she is small enough to kill without much hassle. It makes it easier to let her get close. She is his ally, but she holds no power over him.

Hunk is another one that Champion spends too much time with. Hunk is valuable for the foods he makes, and he’s taken to making food for Champion at his leisure. Champion isn’t sure what Hunk intends to do with the bribe, but Pidge and Hunk both insist that it isn’t a bribe. Champion takes the food anyways. He’s been making caches throughout the castle, in all the hidden rooms and halls that the Paladins can’t find him in. One day when they annoy him enough, he’ll escape to those and they’ll never find him unless he wants them to. 

Lance is perhaps the smartest of the crew. He remains wary of Champion. He may be the only one who realizes that Champion has not been tamed with Hunk’s treats and Pidge’s vulnerability. He’s the only one who locks his door at night, Champion has checked. Lance pretends, though, that he’s not so aware, to avoid the ire of his crewmates. Champion hears them sometimes, when he’s wandering, when they chastise Lance for his fears. Champion wants to tell them that it’s proper respect to fear someone with the reputation that Champion has built for himself, but he likes the discord in the ranks and so sometimes he sits and listens to the fighting with a smile. 

Keith is the worst of the lot. If Champion cannot avoid him, then Keith will stay with him for hours. He talks occasionally, but he’s so silent that it makes Champion’s skin crawl. Keith used to be a friend, an ally, Champion has to remind himself. When they lived on earth. But they aren’t on earth anymore. Champion has learned a game of setting Lance and Keith against each other, to distract Keith from tailing him. It’s enjoyable to see them at each others throats over petty things. They never escalate to physical violence, which is a disappointment.  

Coran refuses to let Champion have the access code to the hangar. Champion isn’t sure if he’s a Druid or not— he’s beginning to lean towards not— but the man is too smart for his own good. 

Champion avoids Allura as much as possible. The less contact he has with a Druid, the better. 

The monotony will drive him insane before long. Champion needs something to occupy him. A fight, labor, even punishment would suit him. He acts out in ways he would never dream of in the prison— rebellion was always a measure of how much strength could you waste, and how much notoriety you could gain— so Champion drops his plates on the floor. He takes food right from his captors plates. He intrudes on their spaces, he lies, he steals. Sometimes he lies so blatantly that he knows they know he’s lying, just to see what they will do. He hides Hunk’s gadgets, he stole Keith’s jacket and put it in Lance’s room to try and make them fight. He locks the mice in drawers when he can catch them. 

And there’s no punishment. There’s no retribution for his actions. 

It’s no wonder this crew is so useless. There’s no fear to keep them in line.

He thinks they are under the impression that they’ve put him in his place. They scold him sometimes. They yell. They explain to him why what he did was wrong or caused them inconvenience, as if that wasn’t why he did it in the first place.

The fact that they own him keeps Champion awake. He’s so much stronger than them. He’s smarter, wiser, far more cunning. There has to be a way for him to escape this, for him to find somewhere that makes sense. 

Sometimes, when he’s alone in the dark, he thinks he can hear that vile monstrosity calling to him. The one they call the Black Lion. She offers him whatever he wants, but Champion won’t let her into his head again. He knows better than to trust a siren call like that. Haggar has no interest in fools.

The crew asks him to eat meals with them, seek him out for this purpose. But it’s not an order. It’s never an order. There are no orders. Champion refuses them, and then joins them on his own terms. 

He likes eating warm food. 

There are no orders, and there’s no punishment for disobedience. They expect Champion to fall in line, but there’s no direction. They tell him what they want him to be: Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. It’s always Shiro. But they have no way of forcing him into that. Champion digs in his heels and takes his pleasure in seeing their frustration.

Things will come to a tipping point eventually. It has to. One of them will finally drop the facade of kindness and put him in his place. Until then, Champion will do as he pleases. 

What he pleases now is to sit in Hunk and Pidge’s workshop. They ask him to come in occasionally, to take measurements on his right arm and to ask what he wants his new arm to be like. 

Useful is what he tells them. He’s not a Druid or an engineer, he’ll work with whatever weapon he can get his hands on. 

But they do seem to be intent on installing a new arm on him, which means he has a time limit. It assures Champion that they do not intend to kill him. Pidge was speaking the truth then, after all. But to make him fighting fit again, they are probably intending for him to fight. Either for their own benefit in underground rings, or they will be selling him to some new masters. Which means the new arm will come with all of the usual shockwires and tracers to keep him from getting out of line. 

It’s such a meager leash, and it grits Champion’s teeth that it’s enough to hold him. 

Not enough, he reminds himself. The Druid’s oath hangs over his head. He can’t hurt any of the crew. The instant Champion sees a new face, he plans on ripping their eyes out. He’s gone too long without violence, and he fears the crew might think him tamed. 

Pidge and Hunk are busy working, heads bent down together. They’re careful of their workbench tools. They keep them close when Champion is in the room. If Champion wanted something of theirs, he would have taken it. 

He has, in fact. When they’re sleeping and he’s walking. He keeps a screwdriver tucked in the left ankle of his boot. They haven’t noticed it’s missing yet. He wonders how long it will be before they know, or if they know but they don’t care because he can’t do anything to hurt them. 

Champion idles in a chair away from the work table. He has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Hunk keeps one on hand whenever Champion is visiting. They’re coddling him, like he’s fangless and something for them to pamper. He won’t fall for those tricks. Champion won’t be caught off guard when they take it all away. 

“How many fingers do you want?” Hunk asks.

“How many fing— what are you talking about?” Pidge demands, “five! Of course he wants five!”

Hunk shrugs, “Maybe he wants something different!”

“Shiro,” Pidge turns to him.

Champion glances up at her. 

“How many fingers do you want your arm to have?” Pidge asks, and rolls her eyes. She thinks this is a stupid question. Champion is inclined to agree. 

Champion shifts his gaze to Hunk. 

Hunk blinks nervously, but lets the silence stretch on. Do they actually expect Champion to answer this question? 

“Okay, I get it, five,” Hunk says, and turns back to Pidge, “I just wanted to make sure. It is his arm after all.”

They continue arguing, and Champion decides that he’s done with their company. He gets up and leaves without a word. 

He goes to one of his hideaways. It’s quiet, high up in an empty hangar and accessible if he climbs a mountain of storage units stacked against the wall. He kicked out the grate to a ventilation shaft so he can crawl inside. The Castleship is scaled up so large that there’s just enough room for Champion to feel comfortable. This is one of his favorite places. He’s far enough from the main living areas that the air is cold, and that it makes it more of a delight to wrap himself in his blankets he’s stashed here. He’s high enough that no one can get to him without him seeing them first. 

He allows himself a ration of one cookie that he’s hidden away, and finally catches up on some hours of sleep he skipped out on last night.   
  


* * *

  
“Anyone seen Shiro?” Keith asks at dinner.

“Should we put a tracker on him?” Lance jokes. 

“He’s not our prisoner!” Pidge protests immediately. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Lance assures her, “but he keeps running off.”

“He always comes back,” Hunk points out. 

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Coran assures them, “he’s been making some good progress, I think. But he still needs some time to get used to the changes.”

“Exactly,” Pidge says, “we’re loud and probably bother him a lot.”

“Hey!” Hunk protests, “are you saying I’m annoying?”

“No, I said we all are,” Pidge says smugly. Hunk sticks out his tongue at her.

“When was the last time anyone saw Shiro?” Allura asks, “are we sure he doesn’t want to join us?”

“He was with us for a bit this afternoon. We were working on his new arm,” Hunk says.

“He knows when we eat. I’m sure he’ll show up,” Lance shrugs. 

“Maybe I should go find him,” Keith muses, just as Coran gets excited.

“How goes work on the arm? Need any help yet?” he asks.

“We’re still working on schematics,” Pidge says, “no building yet.”

The three of them get busy talking about the project. Coran is as desperate as the rest of them to distract from the fact that they’ve been stuck on the ship for so long, with no idea of exactly when they’ll be leaving. 

It was Allura’s decision to hide away. They put up a massive cloaking shield to make them practically invisible to anyone, and they’re tucked away in the crater of a remote asteroid belt. After hunting so recklessly and thoroughly for Shiro, they all needed to rest and recuperate. And especially with how traumatized Shiro is, she decided that they needed the extra time to get settled before they even considered going back into potentially dangerous areas. 

“Did Shiro ask about leaving again?” Allura interrupts. 

Coran grimaces, “Er, well, yes. He says he’s interested in how the ship runs, but he wants to know about authentication keys and passwords.”

“So he’s still trying to escape,” Allura concludes. 

The mood around the table drops. 

“Maybe we should let him go,” Lance says, “if he doesn’t want to be here.”

“No!” Keith says, “Shiro needs us. We can’t protect him out there!”

“So we just hold him hostage?” Lance asks, “we rescued him from people who wouldn’t let him go.”

“It’s not the same,” Keith insists. There’s a snarl to his lips, and Lance decides to shrug him off rather than continue to fight.

“Perhaps Lance has a point,” Allura says, though she sounds like she regrets every word.

“What?” Keith snaps. Pidge echoes the question. 

“Shiro is adjusting, this is true,” Allura says, “but all of his actions indicate he does not wish to be part of our crew.”

“He does,” Pidge says, “he’s just confused about a lot of stuff.”

“We cannot be on the sidelines for too much longer, the Universe needs us,” Allura says. 

“That is true,” Coran agrees, “Voltron can’t get much done if we’re hiding away.”

“This is important, Shiro is important!” Keith says. 

Allura fixes him with a stern glare, “More important than the Universe? You made an oath to save it when you became a Paladin, Keith. Are you willing to go against your word?”

Keith grits his teeth and doesn’t back down. 

Hunk jumps in to break the tension, “Well, maybe it’s time we talk about finding someone for Shiro?”

“A date?” Lance asks, “uh, no offense, but—” 

“A therapist,” Hunk rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe you!”

“That does make more sense than a date,” Lance says. 

“A what?” Coran asks. 

“Therapist,” Hunk repeats, “someone who’s trained in handling, you know, people who have been through some bad… stuff. Like Shiro. They could help him with all the things he’s messed up on. I just… I worry that we’re not enough.”

“We can’t trust anyone else,” Keith says, “not with Shiro.”

“It would be too easy for an outsider to use Shiro against us, or get information from him,” Allura agrees. 

“So we have to let Shiro continue being, well, like he is?” Lance asks, “that’s cold.”

“Hunk’s right,” Pidge says, “I think it’s a good idea. We should start looking into people we could trust.”

“I agree with the Princess,” Coran says nervously, “Shiro’s too vulnerable. Letting a stranger into his head could prove hazardous to us all.”

“We’ll get him help,” Keith decides, “but not yet. He’ll be okay.”

“Do you think Kolivan might know anyone?” Pidge asks. 

“I don’t think the Marmora were in the business of bringing anyone home,” Lance points out, “they seem like the kind of guys who’d die before being held hostage and tortured for info.”

Hunk groans, “Why would you say that! We’re eating!”

“I can ask,” Allura says, “but it’s unlikely we will come up with anyone suitable.”   
  


* * *

  
It’s the night cycle. Champion’s eyes are adjusted to the dark as he moves around in silence. He likes walking the halls. He likes knowing the pattern of things. Pidge is always awake late— he can see the light under her door. Hunk will get up no less than four times to use the restroom. Lance is the only one who locks his door, and does not leave until morning. Keith sleeps through the night, and wakes up early. 

Allura does not lock her door. That’s as far as Champion was willing to dare explore in the night. An unlocked door means she must have many traps set up for unwelcome visitors. The mice came running to investigate the night he explored her room, and Champion wonders if they told her about him. He hasn’t been back to check if she locks up now. 

Coran locks his door. Champion isn’t surprised. 

He raids the leftovers from dinner. It took some time to find where they were hiding the food from him, but now he has access to all the food he could want. 

In the beginning Champion was careful about how much he took— he made sure the depletion of resources was gradual, harder to detect. And as his captors have shown less and less ability to discipline or even try to control him, Champion has grown lax in his actions. He takes whole plates now— anything that he wants. They must all know he takes it, but they never stop him. 

None of the food made tonight will transport to or store well in his hiding places, so Champion eats his fill in the kitchen and leaves the half-finished plates on the counter to be found in the morning. 

The Paladins are all asleep now. Champion slept through their communal meal, and he was lucky enough to avoid them. He has plans tonight to follow up on Pidge and Hunk’s development on the arm they are building him. Champion wants to see what they are planning, if he can find such details, and start planning for how to avoid his future muzzling.   
  


* * *

  
The workspace is unattended. There aren’t any alarms to warn away intruders, nor traps to catch anyone trying to take their work. For all that Hunk and Pidge claim to be smart, Champion can’t believe what fools they are. 

He hasn’t come here alone, yet, because the workspace is in the presence of the Green Lion. Another robotic monstrosity like the Black Lion, one that Champion keeps a close eye on every time he’s summoned for examinations. He can’t let the crew know he’s afraid, but he doesn’t want to be near these creatures any longer than is necessary. 

The Lion is dormant. The hangar is dark, and the Lion does not activate in his presence. Champion skirts the edge of the room anyways, keeping his exit in clear sight. It’s comforting to know he has the screwdriver in his boot, but he knows it’s a false comfort. A small weapon like that will do nothing against the might of the behemoth in front of him. 

The workspace is as the two scientists left it: in disarray. Messy, unorganized. The Galra would never imagine working in such conditions. Even the prisons were organized better than this. It takes Champion several attempts to even find the right data tablet that hosts the designs they are working on. 

The arm seems surprisingly similar to the arm they removed from him. It will be humanoid, modeled to look like a human right arm with five fingers. Internal neural connections, combat abilities, able to interface with multiple technologies. 

Champion does not find any evidence of a failsafe. Or control. Nothing to indicate how they plan to subdue him or keep him in line. 

Could the Paladins be so brash as to arm him with no means to stop him? Is the Druid Allura so confident in her ability to contain him with only a few words? Champion is still trying to find a loophole around her phrasing— some way to let him bite back and prove they should never have underestimated him. 

He gets frustrated. Of course they’ve hidden these things from him. He can memorize the blueprints of his impending arm, but he’ll never know how they’ll use it to own him. All smiles and lies. This crew continues to pretend at niceties and lets him struggle against invisible bars. Somehow their stupidity has allowed them this ingenious enslavement. Maybe Champion has underestimated them all along. He snarls into the silence of the dark, and tosses the data tablet onto the tabletop. It rings loudly in the empty hangar.

But not completely empty, Champion reminds himself.

He turns quickly to get the Green Lion in his sights. It hasn’t moved. It sits, calm, head bowed like it is asleep or in prayer. No lights activate. 

Champion lets out a sigh of relief. And then, across the hangar on the far side of the lion, he spies the table. It’s covered in a sheet, hidden away where Champion would never go looking for it. There’s form under the sheet. 

It must be the arm, or at least, what they’ve put together so far. Or a prototype. It will give Champion an idea of how they intend to build controls into it. He steps forwards— it’s fastest to walk straight across the hangar— but he stops. That route takes him right in front of the Lion’s feet. Champion keeps a wary eye on it and stalks around the edge of the room. 

It’s a table, not unlike the one Champion had to lay on when the Paladins removed his arm. The sheet draped over it is white, and the lumps under it are… are reminiscent of a humanoid shape. Champion’s hair stands on end. He’s seen enough aliens to know that the human form is not unique to the universe, but he’s still unsettled. What are they hiding from him?

He draws his screwdriver as a means of comfort. Champion feels the loss of his right hand more than ever in the moment— a second hand to grapple, a second hand to claw, to grip, to twist. He stands at the end of the table, where the feet of the body might be, and grips the corner of the sheet. 

Steady now. He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, but it’s probably not alive. Even still, no reason to let his guard down. 

Champion yanks the sheet back, exposing the face of what was hiding underneath. It doesn’t move. The hangar stays silent. 

It’s him on the table. 

Champion is conscious of himself enough to know he is the one standing, observing the discovery, and yet… that is unmistakably him laying on the table. 

He looks like he’s sleeping. Skin still pink, eyes peacefully closed in a soft slumber. They have the same scar across their nose. The white streaks in the bangs. The him on the table has short, cropped hair. Maintained in a way that Champion gave up on. 

Champion doesn’t like this. Something is wrong. Very wrong. There’s a way a body looks when they’re still alive, and a way they look when they’re dead. Everything about this version of him on the table should say alive, but he’s dead. 

Champion knocks one of his feet to gauge a response. There is none. The leg is stiff. Rigor mortis set in? 

No, it cannot be. The him on the table cannot be dead because Champion is the him in existence, and Champion is alive.

It occurs to Champion what this might be. Hadn’t they spoken of a name they wanted him to be? Is this Shiro? The Shiro they long for and push him to become. 

Champion draws the sheet back further and walks to stand at the side of the table. Shiro is shirtless, his chest bare. He has scars, like Champion. Minimal body hair, like Champion. His right arm has been severed at the elbow, like Champion. His prosthetic is not near his body— it’s been removed. Like Champion.

He’s been stabbed through the abdomen, by some sort of large knife or sword. Like Champion, but Champion recovered from that wound. Shiro’s is still open. 

Champion pokes at Shiro’s face with the end of the screwdriver. The flesh moves, soft, like he’s alive. Wrong, wrong, wrong. All of this is wrong. 

Shiro’s stomach is open, the skin split and his organs exposed. He’s dead. There are no life-preserving machines attached to him, no medical aid. Except… Champion leans forwards to peer inside of Shiro, and sees circuitry. 

Android, he realizes. A blend of flesh and metal— one system supporting the other, made to perfectly mimic a human creature. And this is the Shiro the crew misses so much? Their obedient dog, who— according to their story— turned on them and attacked them. 

An android could not turn on it’s makers no more than Champion can attack anyone once his arm is reattached. 

But there are no failsafes in the arm, he recalls. Nothing in the arm to stop him, the crew trying to make him respond to a dead name. Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. Memories that he doesn’t need, doesn’t want or care for, that keep surfacing like flies swarming his mind. 

Maybe they don’t intend to sell Champion after all. Maybe they intend to make him theirs. 

Champion growls. Why does Shiro look like him? Was Shiro modeled off of him? They saw him in the Arena, thought it would be funny to have a servant with the face of a bloodthirsty gladiator? 

Champion feels a surge of hate. Rage, disgust and bitterness. He hates his captors— hates Hunk for every smile and delicious treat, hates Pidge for every soft touch. Hates Keith’s smothering loyalty and Lance’s icy suspicions. He hates how they play with him— how they humiliate him and trap him in complicated webs. 

He may have underestimated them. 

They said they saved him from the Arena. But they claimed that Shiro also escaped from the Arena. Champion shakes his head. Two of him. Him and Shiro. They can’t both exist. The crew will have one or the other. They can’t be the same.

The crew wants their Shiro back. Because they had him first. Does that… does that make Shiro the first? Is Champion the copy?

Champion looks down at his own wrist— at the scars he’s bitten into the skin, at the hairs of his arms and the thin blue veins under his skin. Is there more to him than even he knows? 

It’s true. He has not been himself since he came here. Since the Paladins rendered him unconscious in the Arena, before his fight. 

Would that have given them the time to harvest his memories? His DNA? Anything they needed to update a malfunctioning android? 

Champion knows he has bled since he joined this crew. He caused it himself! But his teeth can only get so deep. He hadn’t inspected the wound. 

He feels sick. 

It would not be out of line for a Druid’s game. Give him the semblance of freedom, of a safe life, and then reveal he is nothing but a plaything. The real Champion still lives in the heart of the Arena, while he as he is now, is merely a creation allowed to think he has free will. 

Android his mind reminds him, and Champion turns back to Shiro. Android means human, living organics, mixed with technology. They are improving the design of his prosthetic, making sure he can’t be hacked or manipulated by outside forces. They’ll force him to be their servant, their happy prisoner. 

Champion draws back with a snarl. No, no. He’s paranoid. He’s real. He’s the only Champion. 

But it makes sense. There has to be a catch. There has to be a reason why they refuse to hurt him. They don’t want to damage their work.

Unless…

Champion looks back to Shiro. Takes him in again. 

They’ve kept Shiro in as near-perfect condition as they could. Why would they do that, if they didn’t want to keep him? If they didn’t want to reanimate him?

Keith was always devoted to him, Champion can recall that. Perhaps he’s just as devoted to this Shiro. They rescued Champion, but Champion has refused to become what they want of him. Maybe this was always their plan B. 

Revitalize their precious android with parts right from the source. Take out all the parts of Champion that refuse them, and use the rest to bring Shiro back to life. 

A Druid’s experiment. A cruel salvation. A sad end for everything Champion has endured. 

Champion crouches, sitting back on his heels. This is what his life has lead to? Spare parts— rescued to be fed, be coddled and healed and patched up, made healthy once more, to be used to bring back who he might have once been. 

He’s so tired. Why did he fight, why did he live, just to be harvested? He should have died in battle. Just to spite them all. They would rebuild their Shiro with insufficient parts. Where else would they find human parts out here? 

He has to run. That’s the only option. Champion has always known there was no happy ending here. There was no happy ending in the Arena either, but there he knew how to control it. He had some power over his death. Here? Here he is mocked and fattened, muzzled and chained up to await the slaughter. 

Maybe they don’t intend to use the android again, Champion reasons. Maybe Shiro has been deactivated too long. Maybe that’s why they need Champion, why they put up with him. They’ll try and train Champion to take Shiro’s place. It’s more in line with what they’ve been doing. 

There’s no room for error though. Champion needs to buy himself time to find a way out. 

He stands up again. Shiro is laid out, ready for repairs. Open, defenseless. Champion adjusts his grip on the screwdriver, turning it over in his hand to stab with it. 

The open wound on Shiro’s abdomen is wide enough that Champion can target internal mechanisms. He strikes blindly, stabbing hard to damage as much as he can. The torso bounces with the force of his hits. 

The screwdriver gets jammed, stuck inside, and Champion reaches in to grab whatever he can get his fingers on and rip. Destruction and violence, and even though his opponent is cold and can’t fight back, for a moment, Champion feels alive again. This is what he was made for. This is what he can do. 

He destroys Shiro’s innards. Even with their powerful minds, it will take Pidge and Hunk time to repair all the mechanical damage. Champion is panting by the end of it. He glances up. Shiro’s face is still peaceful. A soft slumber, even as he’s dismembered. 

It makes Champion angry. Soft. Peaceful. Things Shiro got to have, gets to have! Things Champion cannot be, can never be again. Things Champion has forsaken in an agreement to survive. Shiro never could have survived the Arena. Shiro is weak! No one should want Shiro! No one should want the weakness Champion threw away!

The proto-skin peels away under the chiseled tip of Champion’s screwdriver. This thing can’t have his face. No one can have his face, not while Champion is alive. The crew might want calm, rational, kind Shiro, but what they have is Champion, and Champion won’t let them forget that. 

He’s torn some ichor threading, and the red stains his fingers from where he was tearing. The screwdriver got lodged in the circuitry of one of the eye sockets. Champion makes sure that no one will ever mistake this thing for him, and steps back to admire his work.

It’s destroyed. It’s shredded from the inside out, and the face plate cracked and scratched. The proto-skin covering it has been stripped away. Champion bashed in some of the teeth. 

He spits on it.

They’re going to know he’s the one who wrecked it. That he’s onto them.

Maybe, finally, they’ll be forced to punish him. They’ll put him in his place.

Or, realistically, they’ll try and scold him. They’ll continue feeding him, giving him a room with amenities. They’ll try to convince Champion that he’s wrong, that they’re his friends. That there’s some logical explanation for why they had Shiro, for why they want Champion to be like their android. 

But he knows better. This crew can’t outsmart him. He’s going to find a way out of here.

Champion hears voices. He’s tired. How long has it been? He loses time so easily when he’s left alone. 

“I’m telling you, Green is upset about something!” Pidge says, “she woke me up!”

The doors open to reveal Pidge and a sleepy Keith walking into the hangar. Champion doesn’t move. 

“Lights on,” Pidge says. She yawns before she finishes her order.

The lights of the hangar hum as they activate.

“I don’t see anything,” Keith mutters in the dark, “besides, Shiro doesn’t go near the lions—”

“Shiro?” Pidge shouts. Champion looks down at the remains of the android. Does she mean him? Or… the other?

They come closer.

“What are you doing over—” Keith stops cold, “Pidge? Is that?”

Pidge has also stopped, “Oh— oh, Shiro. That was the android, remember? From what we told you. We needed him for research—”

Champion wants to sneer at them. He’s ruined their plans.

He surprises himself with tears.

“You failed,” he snarls, and refuses to wipe his face when the tears stream down his cheeks. He’s so heavy, suddenly. He wants to go to bed. He wants to fight to feel alive again. This mutilation was the closest he’s felt to himself in a long time. 

“Pidge,” Keith says, not taking his eyes off of Shiro, “go get Coran.”

“You can’t control me!” Champion shouts. 

Keith glances sideways to see that Pidge hasn’t moved, “Pidge!” he says, words harsh.

Pidge is startled into action, and runs for the door.

Champion’s whole body jerks. He should run after her. She’s turned her back. A mistake— she should die for that carelessness.

Keith steps in his way, hands out, placating. 

“Shiro, it’s okay,” Keith’s eyes are scanning him, getting stuck on his hand. Champion glances down. His hand is dripping with android ichor. It was fashioned to look like human blood. He wonders if that makes Keith uncomfortable. 

“I’m not your pawn,” Champion spits at him. He glances around. He has to get past Keith to get to the door— and Allura’s orders mean he can’t hurt Keith, or even risk the possibility of hurting him without consequence. 

“We’re not trying to control— are you okay? Is that your blood?” Keith asks. He steps closer. Champion steps back, and bares his teeth. 

“Shiro, it’s me. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Keith says, “I didn’t know they still had that thing. I can’t even imagine how freaked out you must be.”

Champion backs into the table. He’s pinned. 

Keith’s eyes go wide as he glances at the exposed face of the android, and the damage Champion has done to it. He tries to school his expression, to stay calm, but Champion sees his skintone pale. 

“Are you— do you know where you are?” Keith asks, “do you know who I am?”

That surprises Champion enough for the turbulent emotions in his chest to subside enough for him to get a hold of them. He blinks his eyes as he considers Keith’s words. Do they think this destruction is a result of trauma? A lapse in sanity?

They took Champion from the Arena. Champion attempted to kill Keith within minutes of waking. How do they not understand that violence is his nature?

Keith moves closer. 

“Shiro, talk to me,” Keith urges, “are you okay?”

No, Champion is not okay. His eyes burn with new tears— frustration grinds his teeth. Why do they keep doing this to him? Treating him like he’s something more than a rabid animal? Why can’t they just see that blood and death are all he is. He’s not soft, he’s not kind, he’s not their Shiro! And yet they won’t stop treating him like he’s anything else!

Keith moves closer, hand leading the way. His fingers are shaking. Champion wants to bite them off. 

“Don’t,” Champion warns, flinching back. Any closer and he’ll have to attack. That will only end poorly for both of them.

Keith pulls back, expression softening, “Shiro,” he starts, and Champion doesn’t let him finish because Keith finally leans his weight back, resting on the flats of his feet, and it gives Champion an opening to run for the hangar doors. He darts right in front of the Green Lion, and for half a second, he pictures it coming to life and swatting him like a bug. 

The Lion doesn’t move, and Champion makes it to the door.

It opens just before he arrives, to the entire crew coming to Keith’s aid. 

“By the stars!” Coran gasps, taking in Champion’s appearance. 

Champion hears Keith’s footsteps behind him. 

He’s trapped.   
  


* * *

  
They assume he’s had some kind of psychotic break. Champion isn’t in any rush to disagree. 

He’s on their version of lockdown. Whenever he tries to leave his room, someone is always waiting outside and they want to talk to him, or accompany him wherever he goes. And then talk to him.

They’d tried to touch him, to hold him, the night he found Shiro. But he’d threatened to bite and rip their throats out, oath or no oath, if they tried. Under Allura’s watchful eye, he’d let them accompany him to his room, and, buzzing out of his skin in ways that he couldn’t explain, Champion had retreated to his safe space under the bed.

Other than the bathroom just down the hall, he hasn’t moved since. 

They wanted him to wash himself off. Champion refused them that, and spat at them when they tried to coerce him into bathing. They all get uncomfortable with the imitation of gore. As if it’s something to be afraid of. It was finally something that drive them back and Champion delights in it.

The sight of his hand stained red is more familiar, and helps Champion calm down when he looks at it. He likes the way the starlight shines on the flaky ichor in his palm when he holds out his hand at night. 

He picks at the scabs on his shoulder and rubs the blood between his fingertips to keep the red fresh. Champion smears blood around the room, just for the way the Paladins will shy away from it. He likes the pain. It’s grounding, and clears his mind for a short while. 

They bring him food. Several times a day. So much food that Champion feels like he’s being rewarded. He eats some of it, some of it he stores for later. One plate felt satisfying to throw out his door, to hit the wall across the hall, and startle Hunk who had taken watch outside his door. 

Pidge comes to talk to him. She sits on the floor opposite the bed, and works on her laptop, or just rolls candies at him. Champion throws them at her or turns his back to her. He has nothing more to say. She lowered his defense before, and he foolishly considered letting her in. And then she was part of the team working to dismantle and override him. Champion takes small relief in that he never trusted her. But he had been willing to try, and the regret burns his throat. 

He loses time again. He gets so cramped and sore in his space that his body aches at all time, and sometimes he crawls out to try and sleep on the bed. It’s still too soft to sleep comfortably, but he stretches out and contemplates hanging himself. Could he do it before his guards notice? Would he be able to keep himself from choking loud enough to alert them?

Their faces would be hilarious, and give him a small amount of amusement to imagine. Shock, horror. Would they pretend to mourn him? Or would they rage that he’d outsmarted them.

Champion never ties the noose.

He wrings the blanket in his hand, and ends up pressing the soft fabric to his face to feel it better. If he were ever going to use his own death to trump his captors, he would have done so back in the prisons. Champion’s greatest victory and insult will always be to live. 

Escape is his only option before this place really does drive him insane. Coran won’t give Champion the codes to the locked hangars. The only ships he can access are the Lions.

The Paladins claim the Black Lion is meant to be his Lion. Because it was Shiro’s Lion, and they want Champion to be Shiro. The Lions are terrifying in their implications, and Champion still wakes with unshed screams in his throat from the overwhelming horror of being nearly consumed by the behemoth Black Lion. 

Maybe Champion should look into that.   
  


* * *

  
Lance grunts as Hunk flops on top of him to drop his controller off the edge of the bed.

“You’ll break it,” Lance protests.

“I’ll fix it. Cause then I’ll have something to actually do,” Hunk assures him, and doesn’t move.

“We’re gonna die here,” Lance groans, “we’re actually gonna die of boredom.”

As if he’s planning on it happening sooner than later, Lance closes his eyes and relaxes into his bed. Napping is about the most fun he has lately. They’re both silent for a while. Lance eventually cracks open an eye.

“You’re thinking,” he observes.

“I often do that,” Hunk retorts, “but, uh, yeah. Yeah I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no,” Lance sighs.

“Okay so, uh, like hear me out. This is gonna sound a little weird—”

“If you want to prank anyone I suggest not Keith. He’s less fun than usual and might stab you.”

“No, uh,” Hunk wiggles back so he can sit up on his knees, “I was, uh, thinking. So like, Shiro—”

“What about him?” Lance asks warily. Shiro really hasn’t said a word to anyone since he went all psycho-killer and ripped apart an android that looked exactly like him. Even though there weren’t any human organs or anything, Hunk hadn’t been able to stomach the carnage. And walking into the green Lion’s hangar first thing in the morning to see a crazy-eyed Shiro, covered in what looked like blood, and to also see a Shiro with his face ripped off wasn’t exactly the best way to start Lance’s day. 

So Shiro finally cracked, but he seems to be most resentful of Hunk and Pidge. Which, Lance can kinda understand it. They were the ones keeping the android Shiro hidden in plain sight. Lance can’t imagine keeping his chill if he found a robot with his face, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t carve out it’s eyes with a screwdriver. 

“I think you should talk to him,” Hunk says quickly.

“Why?” Lance demands, “he hates us!”

“Well, he’s gotten cranky, but, well, you know. I think he’s freaked out!” Hunk protests.

“Yeah no shit,” Lance says, “why were you even keeping that thing?”

“We got a little busy,” Hunk shrugs, “and besides it… it looks like Shiro. It was hard to imagine melting it down.”

“Well now it doesn’t look like Shiro. It just looks dead,” Lance says.

“Shiro won’t talk to me or Pidge anymore,” Hunk says, “and he’s weird around Keith.”

“Keith’s weird around him,” Lance shrugs.

“And I mean, I think Shiro is kinda okay with Coran, but Coran is… a… well…”

“He’s very Coran,” Lance agrees.

“Yeah,” Hunk nods, “and then Allura, you know, isn’t great at smalltalk.”

“What would I even say to him?” Lance asks, “we have absolutely nothing in common. He likes biting people and eating faces, I like long walks on the beach.”

“He didn’t eat it’s face,” Hunk protests.

“There was a lot of blood,” Lance reminds him.

“It’s not real blood— just, well, made to look like it. Fake blood.”

“That’s not much better.”

“Would you just think about it? He’s been in his room for days. He’s hiding under his bed, and barely eats. If you could, I don’t know, get him to go for a walk? Maybe shower? I think it would be really good for him.”

Lance sighs, “I’m not a therapist, Hunk.”

“I know,” Hunk nods in agreement, “but you’re Shiro’s friend, right?”

Lance licks his lips and folds his hands across his stomach. He stares up at the ceiling.

“I was friends with the android,” he says, “this Shiro? I don’t know.”   
  


* * *

  
Lance takes a steady breath as he stops at Shiro’s door. 

“This is for Hunk,” Lance reminds himself, and pauses a moment to twist his mouth as the motive feels sour on his tongue, “and for Shiro. For our friendship. We can be friends again.”

He knocks once, and waits for a response. As per usual there is none, so Lance knocks again. He hates just barging into Shiro’s room. The other Shiro— the android— had always liked his privacy. But he’d respond to a knock or when people wanted to talk to him. He was normal, and polite like that. 

“Shiro?” Lance calls, “it’s me. Lance. Can I come in?”

Again, no response. 

Lance glances down the hall to Hunk, who’s sticking his head out of his room to watch. Hunk flashes him a thumbs up, and Lance waves it off. He shoves a hand into the pocket of his jacket to pretend like he’s being casual about all this.

Lance reaches out with his other hand to activate the touchpad on Shiro’s door. The door slides open. Lights are on, but it looks like no one is here. The bed is stripped. There’s a dirty plate sticking out from under the bed. The meal is half-eaten, and might be from yesterday. Theres smears of some ruddy-brown stuff on the walls and the floor. Lance doesn’t want to know what that is. Chunks of old and dried out food litter the floor. 

The room also reeks of BO. Lance wrinkles his nose and tries not to flinch away. Hiding away in a small space wrapped in a blanket is a great way to marinate a room with the reek of a dude who hasn’t showered in days. 

Lance walks into the room and squats beside Shiro’s bed. He leans down so he can see into the dark space underneath. 

He can just barely make out Shiro’s form. There’s another smell, now that he’s closer, like rotten food. Lance’s stomach feels a little queasy— is Shiro keeping gross moldy food in here?

“Shiro?” Lance asks, “how’s it goin man?”

Shiro doesn’t move, but Lance catches a glint of light that he thinks means Shiro’s blinking at him.

“You doin okay under there?” Lance tries. 

Again, no response. 

“Hey, so uh, I know you haven’t gotten out of here for a while. I was gonna go hang out with Blue for a bit— did you wanna come?”

Finally, the sound of fabric moving as Shiro shifts his weight and lifts his head.

“The Lion?” Shiro croaks from the dark.

“Yeah,” Lance keeps his voice calm, like it’s totally normal to be talking to a grown man who’s living in rotten food and his own stank under the bed, “I was thinking I could tell you a bit about them, we can hang out. Nothing big. Just thought you might wanna get out of this room for a little bit, yeah?”

“You will tell me about the lions?” Shiro asks. 

“If you want,” Lance shrugs, “I know they kinda freak you out, and I remember being scared of them at first too. But I thought learning about them might help a bit.”

Shiro’s quiet a moment. Lance waits for his answer. 

“Shiro?” he finally tries.

“I will come,” Shiro decides.  
  


* * *

  
Lance struggles to walk at a casual pace. Shiro stinks, and Lance couldn’t convince him to take a shower first. His long hair is matted and greasy, and his shirt is stained with food and old blood. Fake blood. Lance doesn’t want to think about it.  He’s barefoot, which is odd in space, but Lance wanted to get out of Shiro’s stinky room as fast as he could and so didn’t tell Shiro to grab shoes or socks. 

“You’re gonna have to shower after,” Lance says, “you can’t go around being this gross.”

Shiro doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t respond when they run into Coran, either, and just keeps walking while Lance waves a ‘sorry, he’s weird’ apology to the Altean. Shiro has his head down and is marching fast, making Lance work to keep up with him. It means they reach the hangar in no time.

“Hi Beautiful!” Lance calls to his old Lion. Shiro freezes in the doorway. 

“Do you remember Shiro? It’s a long story, but this is the real him. He wanted to say hi,” Lance says. The Lion, as usual, doesn’t move. 

Lance grabs the stool he keeps in the hangar for this, and pulls it forwards so he can sit in front of the Blue Lion. He looks back to Shiro, who is staring up at Blue like she’s dangerous and he’s ready to run. He hasn’t even come into the hangar.

“Shiro it’s okay,” Lance calls, “I’m just talking— it’s not like she can hear me. I’m not even her Paladin anymore.”

Lance walks back to join Shiro.

“You said… I thought you had Blue armor?” Shiro asks. He sounds accusing, as if he’s catching Lance in a lie. Lance tries to shrug it off. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s been a bad person when he didn’t do anything wrong.

“I used to be the Blue Paladin,” Lance nods in agreement, “but we had to switch up when we lost you— the old you, the android. Blue was willing to break our bond so that I could take Keith’s place in Red, and Allura could pilot Blue. So, she can’t hear me anymore, but I like to come talk to her anyways. I miss her a lot— not that Red is bad. Red’s just… different.”

Shiro steps into the hangar, keeping a watchful eye on the Blue Lion. Lance walks with him, and heads back to the stool. Shiro can have it, he decides, Lance can sit on the floor. He usually stands up when he talks anyways. 

“She was willing…” Shiro repeats, and glances at Lance, “they can reason?”

Lance tries to think, and finally shrugs, “I… I guess? They don’t think— not like we do. They’re more… emotions. Like, they’re definitely machines, and if they don’t want you then you don’t have a chance at making them move, but they’re also kinda alive? I don’t know. It’s really weird. But each Lion definitely has its own personality. Blue— she’s wonderful, calm, and likes a little thrill. Red? Possessive as hell. And impulsive. Red once tried to take out a base when she thought Keith was in trouble. She’s crazy like that. She’s even flown across space to grab Keith when he jumps into space without a tether.”

“What?” Shiro asks. 

“I know!” Lance says, “like, no wonder Red picked Keith. They’re both nutcases like that. So it was super wild that Red gave Keith up, but I guess that’s what you do when the bigger lion wants your Paladin.”

“Big… Keith pilots the Black?” Shiro asks. 

Lance nods, “Yeah. But like, I’m sure you know, you’re supposed to be the Black Paladin. This switchup is just temporary until you’re back on your feet.”

Shiro thinks for a moment. Lance hasn’t seen him talk this much since they found him. Score one for Lance for finally finding something that interests Shiro other than attempted murder or eating until he pukes. 

“The Black Lion wants me,” Shiro declares. 

Lance waits a moment, before he realizes that Shiro’s actually asking a question, but with a monotone voice instead of using a little vocal inflection like normal people, “Yeah. Yeah, dude. Keith had to talk with her for hours to convince her to take him back until you’re ready to fly again.”

“I’m ready,” Shiro says quickly, “can I fly now?”

“I’m not— that’s not really my call,” Lance backtracks. He thinks back to Coran having to change the access codes to the other hangars on the Castleship with the non-Lion ships so that Shiro couldn’t get into them. How Shiro hasn’t left his room in days after tearing apart an android that looked exactly like him. 

“Do you want to leave?” Lance asks, “is that why you want to fly Black?”

Shiro’s face goes blank and he stares at Lance without blinking. He does that a lot when someone asks him a question. 

Lance shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Sometimes I want to leave,” Lance admits, “I want to go home. Do you… do you remember home?”

Shiro stares at him, and then glances to the side, “Do you mean Earth,” he says, voice flat. 

“Yeah? Do you miss it?” Lance asks.

Shiro gets his thousand-yard stare on again. 

“I miss my family,” Lance offers, “I miss— I miss people. Humans. The smell of the ocean, or places with names I can pronounce or have actually heard of. I miss walking to the store for a soda.”

“I don’t remember much,” Shiro admits, “only important things.”

“Like what?” Lance asks. He’s genuinely curious. Shiro doesn’t talk to them, so they have no idea what his headspace is like. Lance can take an educated guess, but it’s something else to have words from the man himself. 

“Whatever comes to me when I need it,” Shiro shrugs, “if it wasn’t worth remembering, then it probably wasn’t worth much to me at all.”

That’s one of the saddest things Lance has ever heard.

“What about your family? Your friends?” Lance asks. Shiro hadn’t had much trouble recalling who Pidge’s brother and dad were— but they’d been on the Kerberos mission with Shiro. Maybe he’d been with them recent enough that they could stay in his head. But he also remembered Keith— so he had to remember Earth, right?

“I had those,” Shiro muses, and looks right at Lance, “but their memory doesn’t serve me. I forgot them.”

There’s not a hint of regret in his voice. Lance can’t imagine anything more horrible than losing his family. He’s glad Keith isn’t here to hear this either. Maybe Shiro doesn’t remember Keith as much as Keith wants him to. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance says softly, “I hope it comes back.”

Shiro doesn’t respond and looks up at Blue. 

“How do you fly it?” he asks. 

“Cockpit is up in the head,” Lance says, and points as if Shiro can’t see the clearly visible Lion head, “from there the Lion connects with your brain and kinda helps you fly it. It’s weird and hard to explain.”

“Your brain…” Shiro trails off, thinking, “can you fly without the connection?”

Lance shakes his head, “I don’t think so. The Lions play dead until they have a connection, then they’ll move—” 

_ CLANG _

Lance flinches as the loud sound rings through the hangar. It startles Shiro enough that he reaches out to grab Lance’s arm, hard. The Castle has been full of weird sounds since they had to kill the engines to hide— all the pipes and walls creak and groan without the background hum of the engines to drown them out. 

The moment passes in an instant. Shiro’s fingernails are like knives.

Lance shrugs away from Shiro’s vice-like grip and rubs at his arm absently. 

“You should think about trimming your nails,” Lance laughs. It’s kind of funny that he thinks Shiro is so scary, and yet they were both so easily spooked by a loud noise. 

Shiro’s silent. Lance glances over at him. He’s staring at his hand. When he feels Lance’s eyes on him, he looks up. His long hair is hanging into his face, almost obscuring one eye.

“Did… did I hurt you?” Shiro asks.

Oh, he’s worried. Lance shakes his head and rolls his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I didn’t realize you had such a strong grip. You’re probably great at handshakes, right?”

Shiro narrows his eyes at him but doesn’t say anything else. Back to being quiet and weird. Well, Lance thinks they got somewhere with all the talking Shiro’s done. 

“Sometimes I like to polish up Blue’s claws while I’m— ow!” Lance jumps away when Shiro pinches him on the arm. 

Shiro’s staring at Lance in shock.

“Okay,” Lance snaps, “that hurt. What gives?”

“I hurt you,” Shiro says. 

“Yeah,” Lance says, and barely holds back the ‘duh’, “don’t do it again. That’s mean!”

He knows he left some cloth on the back table the last time he was hanging out with Blue. Or maybe he took it to Red’s hangar. He’ll have to check. Lance rubs at his arm. That really hurt. 

Shiro’s in bare feet, which means Lance doesn’t hear him approach. Which means Lance doesn’t have time to react when he feels Shiro grab him by the hair, and yank Lance’s head down to crack against Shiro’s knee.  
  


* * *

  
_Pain_. 

Champion is overwhelmed by the thrill of inflicting it. Lance hits the floor, dazed and halfway to unconsciousness. 

He hurt him. Champion hurt him. 

He feels like a starved man gifted with an overflowing banquet. He doesn’t know where to start. 

Lance chokes out a surprised sound— a whine, whimper, maybe. Champion kicks him quickly, catching him in the throat. Lance is thrown onto his back with the force of it. The air wheezes out of his lungs and his eyes go wide with desperation as he tries to inhale again. Champion is on him in an instant. Lance can’t call for help now.

The first punch knocks Lance’s head into the floor. Champion’s heart jackhammers like it’s trying to burst through his ribs. _Pain_! _Pain_!

He laments the loss of his right hand, and has to strike again with his left. He scrapes his knuckles on Lance’s teeth. Skin splits. He strikes again, and again, and again.

Lance gasps, a ragged, wet sound while he tries to breathe again. His mouth fills with blood from the split lip. Champion hits him again. Again! Again! He’ll shatter bone, break the cartilage of Lance’s nose and force the shards into Lance’s brain. Lies, all these lies upon lies! Allura isn’t a Druid— was never a Druid! They used Champion against himself— played with him, trapped him in a cage of his own making. 

Lance tries to cover his head, tries to call for help. Champion hits him in the throat, making sure he can’t yell. 

He’s outsmarted them. He figured it out. This cunning puzzle. They were mocking him all this time. They were trying to drive him mad. See how long he could suffer their kindness until he was so starved for blood that he’d risk disobeying a Druid for his own satisfaction.

Lance weakly brings up his hands. He’s reaching for Champion’s face to push him back. He’s choking on his own blood. 

There’s a sound like an explosion— so very, very far away that it barely registers to Champion. The floor beneath them shakes. Maybe the illusion is falling apart. He’s figured out Haggar’s trick, and now it’s time to awaken back in her dungeons. 

He’s going to kill Lance first. 

Champion grabs Lance by the throat. Lance only has one eye open— Champion split the skin at his temple and the blood is pooling over his left eye. If Lance weren’t so limp already Champion couldn’t do this with one hand.

“Shiro,” Lance wheezes. It’s barely a sound. Champion tightens his grip, and leans his body into the choke. 

“Die!” Champion growls. 

There’s an answering growl, and the entire hangar shakes. 

Champion looks up as the Blue Lion activates. It doesn’t bother posturing to scare him— the eyes glow and then it lunges forwards, huge paw outstretched to swipe. Champion has no time to react. The side of the Lion’s paw hits him into the air. He’s thrown clear across the hangar and hits the far wall by the door. His head spins from the impact. His body sings agony in a tune he hasn’t heard in a long time. 

The Blue Lion crouches over Lance and activates its force field, locking them both inside. Champion struggles to his feet. He spits out blood. His ribs flare with pain.

The Lion’s eyes stay lit. It’s active, and guarding. That’s fine, Champion decides. Lance’s windpipe is damaged. He’s almost unconscious and will drown in his own blood before help reaches him. 

Laughter hurts, but Champion can’t help it. The frenzy of a killing— he’s missed this. This thrill, this power. The superiority and knowledge that he was made for this. 

The crew locked Champion in a hellish daze of rules and insanity. They paraded him as a tame pet, expected him to be grateful for their supposed benevolence. They’ve done nothing but make Champion question and doubt himself since he arrived. But now, for the first time in a long time, everything makes sense again. 

They think they’ve made a cage to trap him— keeping him away from ships that he could flee in, keeping him from contacting any outside force. This is Champion’s new arena, and the crew is locked in with him.  
  


* * *

  
Hunk falls out of bed when the entire ship shakes. It feels like they’ve been hit. Like someone’s attacking them.

He bursts into the hall at the same time as Pidge.

“What’s happening?” Hunk shouts.

They both wobble as the ship shakes again.

“Are we under attack?” Pidge asks. 

Allura’s voice echoes around them, over the PA system “ _ Lance! The Red Lion has gone berserk! What’s going on? Where are you? _ ”

“Lance?” Pidge groans, “what is he doing?”

The hall shakes again, just as Keith stumbles around the corner.

“He’s going to tear apart the castle!” Keith snaps, “let’s go!”

“I’m gonna check on Shiro,” Pidge says, and turns for Shiro’s room.

Hunk’s stomach drops.

“Wait!” he shouts, “Shiro’s with Lance!”

Keith and Pidge stare at Hunk, processing. The last time the Red Lion went psycho like this was when Keith was taking the Blade of Marmora initiation test, and was on the verge of dying. 

“Why would Lance have Shiro in a Lion?” Pidge demands.

Keith reaches the same conclusion Hunk does. He goes for the comms before Hunk can move.

“Allura, can you hear me?” Keith shouts, “we need to find Lance right now!”

“What’s going on?” Pidge asks.

The Castle rocks again. This time they can hear the Red Lion roaring in rage. 

“We don’t have time,” Keith says through gritted teeth, “everyone split up. We have to find Lance before his lion tears the ship apart!”

Hunk takes off for the Bridge— Lance loves looking at the stars. Maybe he took Shiro there?

The Castle shakes so badly that he’s thrown off his feet. 

The comms crackle to life.

“ _ I saw Lance and Shiro _ ,” Coran says, “ _ they were heading towards the Blue Lion— I’m on my way to get them _ .”

 

* * *

  
Keith sprints until he thinks his heart might burst. He wants to be wrong. He wants to be so wrong that he has to beg Shiro’s forgiveness again— but the Red Lion only acts like this when it’s Paladin is severely messed up.

Coran is just ahead of him, and rounds the corner and stops short. Keith skids to a stop, almost running into him.

“Shiro?” Coran says. He’s calm, but Keith can feel the tension in his voice.

Keith steps out from behind Coran.

Shiro’s only a few steps away from them. He’s covered in blood splatter. His hand is slick with it, dripping onto the floor. His hair is hanging in his face, and he’s panting hard. He’s bent over slightly, like he’s hurt.

Keith feels light headed. He’s going to be sick. Not again, he wills. He can’t survive this again. 

Shiro bares his teeth at them, and then his shoulders shake as he starts to laugh. 

“You thought,” he pants, “you thought you could own me?”

He steps towards them. Keith steps back. 

Shiro coughs, but keeps laughing to himself. It’s maniacal in sound. His gaze focuses on Keith.

“You thought you were safe,” Shiro growls, “I’m going to kill you one by one.”

“Keith,” Coran instructs sharply, “get Pidge, now!”

The ship shakes and they can hear the Red Lion’s desperate roars.

Keith feels frozen to the spot. It’s happening. All over again. And he— he has to act. If he doesn’t, the others will—

“Keith!” Coran snaps, and shoves Keith backwards with one arm.

The movement breaks the tension, and Shiro rushes Coran with a yell. Coran grapples to keep Shiro from grabbing him, but Shiro tackles him to the floor. 

“Shiro! Stop this!” Coran shouts. 

Keith is seized with terror. He has to act. If he doesn’t— he has to do it. He has to save them.

He can’t do this again. 

Shiro headbutts Coran hard enough to stun the Altean, and then brings up the stump of his right arm to clobber Coran under the chin. Coran flinches, and in that moment, Shiro lunges forwards to sink his teeth into Coran’s wrist. 

It’s the scream of pain that wakes Keith up. They need Pidge— her bayard. It’s their only hope. And it’s going to work this time. It’s going to work, and Keith won’t have to make the sacrifice to save them all.

“ _ Pidge _ !” Keith shouts into the comms, “ _ Pidge! The Blue Lion! We need you _ !”

The Red Lion shakes the ship again. Where’s Lance? It’s going to tear the Castleship apart to find its dying Paladin.

He hopes Pidge hears him. Coran can’t get Shiro off him— Shiro shakes his head and breaks skin. Coran writhes, and tries to strike Shiro in the temple. Keith is on his feet in an instant. This time is going to be different. He’s not going to use his bayard. Not against Shiro, ever again. 

Keith dives into the fray and grabs Shiro around the waist to pull him off Coran. Shiro lashes out to scratch Coran across the face before Keith can make some distance for Coran to pull back. 

Shiro reaches back to grab Keith by the shoulder of his shirt, and with only one arm, flips Keith over his head and then dives forwards to drive Keith into the wall of the corridor, Shiro’s shoulder pressed into his spine hard enough to bruise. It knocks the air out of Keith’s lungs. 

Shiro punches his head, bouncing Keith’s face off of the wall. Keith’s legs crumple and he struggles to catch himself. 

Shiro kicks him, but Coran shouts a warning, and Keith’s distantly aware that Coran has tackled Shiro away from him. Keith scrambles on all fours to help Coran. Shiro’s impossible to pin— he twists and kicks and snaps his teeth. He’s screaming— sometimes words, sometimes sound. Coran is bleeding from his wrist and nose. Shiro’s got blood smeared across his face and teeth. Between the two of them they can barely keep Shiro contained. It’s not just Coran and Keith’s blood on Shiro. He hurt Lance— they don’t know where Lance is and Keith is so scared. People are getting hurt and he should summon his bayard and save them just like last time— 

“Get out of the way!” Pidge shouts. 

Coran shoves Keith back so they hit opposite sides of the hall. Pidge’s bayard arcs through the air, and Shiro leaps to avoid, but Keith kicks his foot out from under him and ruins his balance. Pidge hits Shiro dead-on.

“I’m sorry!” Pidge shouts.

For a moment it seems like nothing’s happen. Shiro goes silent, and completely stiff. He shakes like he’s cold, and then the current stops and the bayard retracts. Shiro crumples like a doll. 

Allura and Hunk are right behind Pidge, and they come running down the hall. Coran is already helping Allura restrain Shiro, while Hunk runs ahead to check on Lance. 

Keith can’t look away from Pidge. She’s crying. He struggles to his feet and stumbles to her. She meets him halfway. 

“It’s okay,” Pidge whispers, “it worked this time.”

Keith realizes he’s crying too. He needs to get moving. But he takes a moment. It’s different this time.

Lance is hurt. So is Coran. So is Keith. But this time— this time, Keith didn’t have to kill anyone. 

This time Shiro’s alive.     
  


* * *

  
Champion wakes with a gasp. He feels like he can’t breathe. Every inch of him aches.

He rolls— he’s on the floor. He needs to get up. His head spins so hard he pukes. His ribs ache— damage. He’s damaged, bruised, maybe broken. Standing up straight is too hard. He stays hunched forwards. 

He’s in— he grabs at the wall to support himself. It’s white. This is not Haggar’s dungeon. He hasn’t escaped.

But this is not his luxurious cell. This is not any of the rooms Champion has seen on this ship. He still knows it for what it is. It’s a proper cell, for prisoners. 

The far wall lights up, fading to transparency. It flickers ever so slightly with blue energy, to remind Champion that the barrier is there. 

The entire Voltron crew stands on the other side, staring in at him. No, he realizes, not all of them are here. Lance is absent. 

“Shiro,” Allura says gently, “how are you—”

“I’ll kill you!” Champion howls. 

He throws himself at the barrier so hard the entire cell shakes. His jailers all recoil. Good, let them fear him. They should have realized they never had a chance of dominating him. 

Lance’s blood is still wet on his hands. Champion stops to savor the sight of it, and then drags his palms down his face.

“This is not a punishment Shiro,” Allura says, “it’s to help you. I’ve contacted Kolivan— we’re going to get you help—”

Champion laughs in her face. He spits at them. It’s mostly blood, and hits the barrier keeping him in. It oozes slowly down the wall. 

“There’s nothing else to be done here,” Coran says, and tries to usher the shocked Paladins away. They move, slowly, like they’re in a daze. Easy prey. 

Champion recalls letting Pidge run from him earlier. He should have killed her then. Drowned her in the tub. Beat her with the wrench. Stabbed her with the screwdriver. So many missed opportunities. 

Bloody spittle hits the barrier as Champion shouts and pounds it with his fist, “You can’t leave me in here! You’re just like the Galra! You’re worse than them! I hate you!”

Keith remains, Allura standing beside him. Keith stares at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. His hands are balled at his sides. 

Champion breathes heavily. A fight. He must want to fight. Champion will relish finishing what he started on the first day he was brought here. He bares his teeth in a savage grin. 

“We’re gonna make you better,” Keith declares. Allura pushes Keith, a little firmer, to leave.

“When I get out of here,” Champion promises, “I’ll kill you first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutout to Sass as she was hugely influential on the direction of this chapter. I'd been waffling between ideas, and she brought some good sense and a lot of wisdom to my ideas and helped me pick a path. This is the story I've been wanting to tell from the beginning, and it's not pretty or glamorous, but it makes me happy (to tell it, at least. Right now it hurts)


End file.
